


Blood Moon Rising

by TheSkyLarkin



Series: SkyLarkin's FebuWhump 2021 Fics [2]
Category: Bloodborne (Video Game), Ni no Kuni II: Revenant Kingdom (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bloodborne Fusion, Amnesia, Background Character Death, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Bodily Fluids, Child Neglect, Emotional Hurt No Comfort, Emotional Whump, FebuWhump2021, Flashbacks, Gen, Gun Violence, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Medical Experimentation, Medical Procedures, Mentioned Grampuss (Ni no Kuni), Mentioned William Crane, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Non-Linear Narrative, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Torture, Plague, Video Game Mechanics, Whump, Worldbuilding, grey morality, mentioned child death, prepare to cry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29249544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSkyLarkin/pseuds/TheSkyLarkin
Summary: NNK2 x Bloodborne Fusion: In which Roland Crane has chosen the worst possible evening to visit the fabled city of Yharnam. Multiple PoVs, Spoilers for the base games and DLCs of both NNK2 and Bloodborne.Challenge: FebuWhump 2021 (Chapters 1-?)See the chapter summaries for the individual list of prompts filled per chapter.See the endnotes for each chapter for comprehensive warnings/tags.
Relationships: Batu & Tani (Ni no Kuni), Roland Crane & Tani (Ni no Kuni)
Series: SkyLarkin's FebuWhump 2021 Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136981
Comments: 16
Kudos: 13





	1. The Father Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Tumblr user maqui-chan's [Bloodborne AU fanart](https://maqui-chan.tumblr.com/post/637854012368175104/bloodborne-choirboy-evan-as-a-treat-for-me).
> 
> Note: Some character names have been changed or altered to fit the Bloodborne/Victorian Gothic setting.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 2 - "I can't take this anymore"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [thegaywhumpvampire](https://thegaywhumpvampire.tumblr.com/)/ [ineptdetective](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineptdetective/) and [sunflowersandink](https://sunflowersandink.tumblr.com/) / [SilverSkiesAtMidnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverSkiesAtMidnight/pseuds/SilverSkiesAtMidnight) for beta reading!

A full moon will rise over Yharnam tonight. The beasts will emerge from the shadows seeking the flesh of the innocent and thirsting for blood, and the hunt will begin once again.

On a typical day, the denizens of the city will use the last few hours of daylight to stock up their caches of food and supplies before the sun sets and the long, unrelenting night commences. While those who cannot fight barricade themselves in their homes to wait out the monstrous scourge, every able-bodied man (and woman; the pressing need for hunters has long overridden any gender-based prejudices the Yharnamites may have had about women joining in the hunt) brave enough to pick up a weapon will be patrolling the city streets, looking to cut down any beasts on the prowl before they can spread their heinous curse any further.

Tonight, like all other nights of the hunt before, Father Batu will be among them. This is how it has been ever since he arrived in this city of miracles and blights. The fabled blood ministrations of Yharnam were only spoken of in hushed whispers back in his home country, for fear of being overheard by the spies of the High Ecclesiastes and subsequently exiled for such blaspheming. However, the faith of these religious leaders had not saved them from the plague that had ravished the entire country—spreading slowly through the population like an undetectable poison until it was too late—and left none but a handful of survivors.

His young daughter Tani had been one of the lucky few untouched by the illness. She was not his daughter by blood but by necessity, as her whole family had been wiped out by the plague (same as his) and there had been no one left alive to take her in. Batu was no saint, but he certainly wasn’t so hard-hearted that he’d just let a young girl like her try to eke out a living on the disease-ridden streets!

Batu, on the other hand, was not as fortunate. Just as it seemed that the plague had died out with a lack of living victims left to act as carriers, he’d started coughing up blood—the ominous initial symptom of the strange illness that only got worse as time passed. With no local healers left alive in all of the land, the pestilence drove the cleric and his adopted daughter from their homeland with only one burlap sack of belongings to their names. Batu had very nearly succumbed to his illness at the threshold of Yharnam; his daughter Tani would’ve been left an orphan in the strange city had a member of the Healing Church not found them and saved his life via emergency blood ministration.

This act of charity instilled a deep sense of debt towards the Church within Father Batu, and he spent the next decade or so working as a Church hunter, driving back the beastly scourge that slowly poisoned the minds of men with insatiable bloodlust until they turned into feral, thoughtless monsters. Unlike the much more conventional sickness that had decimated Batu and Tani’s homeland, the scourge of the beast—which still plagues Yharnam—is a disease that warps both the body and the mind. The infected lose all capacity for rational thought and turn animalistic, driven only by their insatiable hunger. At the same time as they lose themselves to base instinct, those tainted by beasthood start to resemble beasts themselves as they begin to grow fangs, fur, and other inhuman abnormalities.

Although he has since left the Church, Father Batu could not leave the hunt, especially once the feral beasts began to roam the city in greater numbers and the Healing Church responded by retreating to the fortified sanctuary of the Cathedral Ward. And so began his new nightly routine at the beginning of every month: wake up just before dusk, eat breakfast as Tani was eating her dinner, gear up for the long night ahead, patrol the city streets from sunset to sunrise—cutting down any of the infected unfortunate enough to cross his path, return home once the morning had broken, and eat his dinner while Tani had breakfast (provided he didn’t feel too sick to his stomach with the smell of blood and death to keep any food down, in which case he immediately retreated upstairs to his chambers without so much as a word to his daughter).

If there were a benevolent god out there—since the current state of Yharnam proved that the local deities certainly weren’t, at least not to those who were not high-ranking members of the Church—Batu would thank them that Tani has grown up into an independent young woman who is capable of running the household while he sleeps off the aftermath the hunt, sometimes confining himself to his room for days. Nevertheless, there are times when he is painfully reminded that despite her emotional maturity, she is still very much a child—such as right now as she prods sullenly at her vegetables despite having cleared the rest of her plate—and begins to seriously consider packing up and leaving Yharnam for safer harbors.

But where could they go? Yahrnamites tend to be distrustful of outsiders—as he and Tani found out during their first difficult months in the city before Batu had been granted permission to join the Church hunters—and so Batu had never seen so much as a map of the surrounding lands that bordered Yharnam territory. The closest settlement outside of the city that he was (only vaguely) aware of was Cainhurst Castle, which was said to be crawling with a breed of beasts even more thirsty for blood than the ones that terrorized Yharnam.

“Oi, Dad! Have you even been listening to me?” Tani’s voice cuts through the fog of his thoughts like a knife. He looks up to find his daughter glaring impatiently at him, hands on her hips and vegetables on her plate having mysteriously vanished. A wave of guilt immediately washes over him; Tani only calls him “Dad” when she’s being deadly serious, to the point where even Chingis and Khunbish have inadvertently adopted her usual nickname for him.

“Sorry, girlie, my mind was off somewhere else,” Batu admits sheepishly. “What were ye sayin’?”

“Urgh, nevermind,” Tani grumbles with a sigh as she gathers up the empty plates and brings them to the kitchen. Batu can’t help but notice that before she leaves, his daughter pockets the tiny wooden music box that she always seems to carry around lately, like a talisman. It was the only item of purely sentimental value that Batu brought with them when they fled their homeland. He often played it for Tani in order to get her to sleep when she was much younger and now sometimes when he returns home from a particularly gruesome hunt, Tani will wind it up for him instead and the familiar tune will snap him out of the fugue state he is in.

Most hunters would take this increasing sense of dissociation as a sign that they’d been on the hunt for too long. The blood ministrations of the Healing Church are a necessary evil for ordinary humans to be able to prevail against the stronger and faster beasts that they hunt. However, the Church often warns its members of the dangers of excessive blood consumption: too much of it will decrease a hunter’s natural resistance to the beast scourge and likely turn them into the very monster that they have sworn to hunt. Those who feel themselves losing their sense of self to the intoxicating nature of blood are strongly advised to take a step back from the hunt, lest they pass the burden of putting down another hunter who has fallen to beasthood onto their compatriots…

“You know,” Tani calls from the kitchen, somewhat hesitantly, “if you’re feeling a bit out of it tonight, Boss, perhaps you should take the night off. Chingis and Khunbish will be fine for one hunt; the last thing anyone needs is _you_ daydreaming on the job!” Even her usual teasing tone lacks the typical bite tonight.

...but Batu is not most hunters. “Now listen ‘ere!” he retorts loudly, pride stung at the thought of leaving his self-proclaimed lieutenants alone to do a job that he’d done solo for much longer than they’d been hunters themselves. “Jus’ cuz I ain’t fully awake yet don’t mean that I’ll be slackin’ on the job tonight! Fer Oedon’s sake, have some faith in yer old man!”

Normally, Tani would be quick as a whip to fire back with a witty reply. However, there is a long pause from the other room that makes Batu feel as if his heart has just dropped into the pit of his stomach. “Well,” Tani finally replies in a disconcertingly quiet voice, “if you’re certain…”

Then in a quieter voice, she whispers, “I can’t take this anymore…” followed by a tiny sniff.

Batu wants to reassure her that he’ll be just fine, that he’ll come home when the sun rises just like he does after every other hunt, but his words catch in his throat. After a few awkward moments trying to dislodge them, he gives up and heads out to the shed in the back garden (“garden” is a bit of a misnomer; any plant that Batu and Tani have ever tried to put in the soil has withered away into a husk within a week) where he keeps his hunting gear.

Despite his separation from the Church, Batu still wears the old clothes of his former station while out hunting for the protection they provide, especially against the poisonous beasts that occasionally crawl out of Old Yharnam and into the inhabited parts of the city. (Plus it is easier having one set of garments set aside for hunting so that the rank stench of blood does not get into the clothes that he wears at home, or—Oedon forbid—Tani’s.) The tattered grey scarf around his neck had once been a piece of the gleaming white holy shawl he’d been proud to wear in the past; the other piece has been dyed multiple shades of orange and green in a strange pattern by Tani as a birthday present.

(“You can’t let Khunbish be the only one of you three with a sense of style!” she had explained petulantly when he pointed out how garish it was and how it would make him that much more visible to the beasts while hunting. So as a compromise, he tied it up and wore it under his hat to keep his hair out of his face.)

No matter how much he wants to spare his daughter from the anxiety and dread of possibly losing him to the beasts, Batu can’t bring himself to abandon the hunt and leave the people of Yharnam to fend for themselves—not since he’d seen the true face of the Church and realized that they were no less corrupt than the religious leaders in his former homeland had been.

“Get it together, man! Yer doin’ this _fer_ Tani, so that she might ‘ave a better life,” Father Batu sharply reminds himself as he snaps his hunter’s axe in between its normal and transformed states as quick as he can, testing to make sure the trick weapon does not need any maintenance before he heads out into the mean streets of Central Yharnam. But his words sound hollow, even to his own ears.

* * *

Since parting ways with the Healing Church, Father Batu has kept his usual patrol routes within the borders of Central Yharnam, never venturing past the Tomb of Oedon and into the Cathedral Ward proper. After all, the Healing Church has plenty of other hunters within their ranks to look after the bloody vicars and clerics, who shut themselves up in their research halls and studies in the tallest towers of the city—all while the people in the city below are left to face the full brunt of the beast scourge. None of the Church leadership even pretend to care about the plight of the common folk—who are the ones suffering the most as the feral beasts run rampant across Yharnam and the surrounding countryside—anymore.

Feh! Let them hole up in their gilded rooms to ponder their insights and their blood experimentations until their brains turn to jelly! Father Batu (his clerical order had been brought with him from his homeland, as the Healing Church had no such rank in their clergy, and thus the Church could not strip away a title that they had not given him when he took his leave from their ranks) would take the Yharnamites who weren’t as fortunate as his own flock in their place—or at least the ones whose trust he had earned.

Most of the cityfolk still instinctively flinch away at the sight of the black Church hunting garb Father Batu still wears—the symbol of those who are tasked with stopping the spread of beasthood by any means necessary, even culling the potentially infected who have yet to show proper symptoms. Their fear of those who hunt men as well as beasts (or even those who solely hunt down other hunters whose minds are irreversibly poisoned by bloodlust, like Aranella the Crow—an elusive figure who Batu has only heard tales of, but whom he remembers because she was a foreigner to Yharnam who had earned infamy as a hunter, much like him) is quite justified in Batu’s opinion. Nowadays, it only takes the mere suggestion to a Church hunter that someone could be showing early symptoms of the scourge for them to cut down the accused party with impunity, as most no longer bother to check if these accusations are true.

(This blind fervor has been a very handy tool for the Healing Church, as any opposition to their rule of Yharnam has a very high chance of suddenly becoming infected with early onset beasthood and summarily disposed of.)

The realization that his fellow Church hunters felt no remorse for—or in the most extreme cases, _enjoyed_ —murdering their fellow man had been another one of the major catalysts for distancing himself from the Church, despite losing the safety and security that his previous position conferred onto him and Tani. But in Batu’s eyes, those who can kill another human without any hesitation or regret are no better than mindless beasts themselves.

After spurning his old comrades, Father Batu had found camaraderie with some of the cityfolk turned hunters as they slowly came to trust him. Chingis and Khunbish were normal traders (or possibly smugglers, but Batu didn’t really care to ask) until the influx of beasts forced them to take up arms and defend their homes. Batu had taken one look at the sorry lads (who clearly didn’t know one end of a trick weapon from the other) and decided that he ought to train them up to be proper hunters before they accidentally hurt someone (or themselves). Now, they are as good as his right hand men and faithful companions during the hunt; wherever he goes, they follow.

The sun has almost set as Batu makes his way from the garden out to the streets, through a well-hidden door in the wall. Chingis and Khunbish are waiting for him on the other side, similarly kitted up and ready for the long night ahead. Even in the low light of the twilight hour, it is hard to mistake the two men for anyone else in Yharnam due to their...eccentric wardrobe choices.

Chingis wears half of the pelt of a slain beast around his shoulders like a fur cape over his hunting garb, which has nearly gotten him shot at by many a careless hunter reflexively firing at the sight of dark, matted fur out of the corner of their eye. But he staunchly refuses to part with it, claiming that the sight of a hunter wearing a beast pelt would surely intimidate the other beasts, wouldn’t it?

The other half went to Khunbish, who has fashioned his bit of pelt into something that looks more like a vest made of dark fur. At least he has his signature red hat that makes it easier for hunters to pick him out of a crowd (and not mistake him for a beast out of their peripheral vision). However, it also has the additional effect of making him an easy target for beasts. There’d been many times when Batu wanted to smack some practical dress sense into both of them, but knowing that this pelt was from the first beast that the two men had ever taken down together, he could never quite bring himself to do so. 

“Evenin’ Boss,” Chingis greets Batu as he approaches, dutifully polishing the blade of his saw cleaver. “Folk’s have been sayin’ that the beasts are gonna be especially vicious tonight, what wit’ th’ harvest moon an’ all.”

“Pah, that’s just an old wives tale!” Khunbish scoffs airily, casually leaning against the nearby lamp post and absentmindedly twirling his rifle spear. “Ye know how superstitious this lot ‘round here can be. A harvest moon's just a regular ol' full moon with a bit more yellow to it!”

“Aye, that might be true, but there’s some kernel o’ truth in them ol’ tales,” Father Batu mutters, thinking back to his days with the Healing Church. He’d tried not to spend much time with the scholarly types of the Church—those overdressed snooty so-and-so’s who turned their noses up at his “foreign” ways—but he can recall some of them warning hunters that the beasts’ behavior seemed to be affected by the seasons as well, and not just because of the weather. “We best be cautious either way.”

As always before he sets off for the evening, Batu’s last act is to make sure that the lanterns, which burn a special blend of incense that repels the beasts, are burning brightly by the windows of his house that face the street. As he checks the last one, the curtains inside part as Tani peeks her face out, her own little ritual every night as Batu leaves for the hunt. As is their custom, Batu gives her a big grin and she sticks her tongue out at him in response. From across the street, Chingis and Khunbish wave to her wildly and she waves back.

However, Batu can’t help but notice a lack of enthusiasm in Tani’s usual antics. As the heavy gate leading to the square slowly slides shut behind him, the Father witnesses the cheeky grin on his daughter's face fall into an expression of immense concern and the pit in his stomach grows deeper. What kind of pathetic excuse for a father is he, causing his little girl so much anguish? But what else can he do?

One last hunt, Father Batu tells himself as the evening fog begins to roll into the city. The gas lanterns that line the streets begin to flicker on as more hunters arise from their homes to brave the horrors of the night once again. One last hunt, and then he’ll take a short break from this unending cycle for the sake of his daughter, if not for his own sanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism is appreciated!
> 
> Triggers/Warnings: Mentions of deadly plagues, (Fantasy) Religious references (The fountains of gore that a Bloodborne AU necessitates don't start properly until the next chapter.)


	2. The Father Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: Day 11 - Hallucinations  
> Day 13 - Hiding Injury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [thegaywhumpvampire](https://thegaywhumpvampire.tumblr.com/)/ [ineptdetective](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineptdetective/) and [sunflowersandink](https://sunflowersandink.tumblr.com/) / [SilverSkiesAtMidnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverSkiesAtMidnight/pseuds/SilverSkiesAtMidnight) for beta reading!

The sun has not fully set on Yharnam yet but already the beasts are roaming the streets, sniffing around for an easy meal. Father Batu has never seen them act so brazenly, as if some unseen force was driving them out of the shadows before nightfall—the time in which they could much more easily sneak about the city without being spotted. He, Chingis, and Khunbish have split their time in between forcibly escorting the last of the stragglers in the city back to their homes and clashing with the emboldened hordes of beasts, some of which still retain the outward appearance of humanity. There has been a curious increase in the amount of beasts who have yet to shed their human visages and expose their true nature, as well as a concerning absence of other uninfected hunters that the trio have spotted tonight.

Additionally:

“Ey, Boss, is it just my imagination or ‘ave the beasts been gettin’ stronger?” Chingis grunts as he quickly whirls around to face the source of the deep growling behind him. His saw cleaver catches the oncoming beast mid-transformation and the serrated blade carves through flesh with a spray of blood that paints the cobblestones a fresh coat of red. The beast’s body hits the ground with a howl cut short, twitching in its death throes as it rolls to a stop, revealing the still humanlike face twisted in agony. With a shudder of revulsion, Chingis nudges the corpse over the edge of the walkway with the tip of his boot. The body plummets down into the sewer below, which has already begun to fill up with the visceral refuse of tonight’s carnage.

Under normal circumstances, Father Batu would simply snap at him to quit bellyaching and get back to the task at hand. But even he can feel the exhaustion of what seems like hours worth of relentless battle (although the sun does not seem to budge an inch during the perceived passage of time) beginning to creep up on him. His supply of blood vials, a resource he typically tries to avoid using during the hunt due to its intoxicating nature, is slowly dwindling. The heavy breathing and pained hisses of his companions behind him as they seek a moment’s reprieve from the deranged mobs in the streets down into the tunnels and causeways that run underneath the city like a maze—there are still beasts down here below, but at least these ones have the courtesy to not pretend to still be human at a distance—indicates that they too are struggling just as much as he is, if not more so considering their current location.

The sewers of Yharnam, full of dark nooks and crannies for beasts to hide in, reek of the stench of beast blood and other bodily fluids that pour down from the gutters above. Breathing in too much of the pungent odor down here is an easy way to lose one’s dinner. But for some reason, the putrid stench does not seem so bad to Father Batu tonight. Perhaps it is because the night has barely begun, but he could swear that he smells something almost sweet, like a faint perfume, wafting up from below along with the usual vile odors…

...then this illusion is summarily shattered by the sounds of retching as Khunbish’s stomach rebels against the rank stench of the canals below seeping through his mask. Lucky for him, a ladder back to the street level is just around the corner. Chingis clambers up first to make sure that the coast is clear, then the Father follows once he spots the fellow hunter’s signal. The two of them have to practically drag Khunbish up the last few rungs of the ladder, looking as wobbly and green around the gills as if he’d just been pulled from a ship in a maelstrom.

While Khunbish takes a few deep gasps of clean air (well, cleaner air—the faint stench of the canals still lingers along with the odors of charred hair, flesh, and fur wafting in from the bonfire pits of the main street, plus the usual smog and soot that covers the city even when the hunt is not on) the Father stares down the two dark and winding avenues that this small bridge connects to. Snarls from demonic dogs echo from one direction, the incoherent murmurings of men who have lost their battles with the beast within resound from the other.

They’re far too close to the great bridge that leads to Cathedral Ward (even though that massive gate has been shut for many years, ever since Old Yharnam burned to cinders) for Father Batu’s liking; he can even hear a distant, inhuman scream coming from that direction…He spots a figure on a distant roof clad in a long-beaked mask and crow-feather cape, but the hunter of hunters is gone when he whips his head around for another look. Has she made one of them her next mark? 

Khunbish finally breaks the pensive silence. “It’s not that th’ beasts are gettin’ stronger,” he retorts in response to Chingis’s earlier question, “it’s jus’ that there’s bloody loads more o’ ‘em! Why in—”

“A-a-away! AWAY!!!”

He is interrupted by a much closer and much more human-sounding shout. The hunter leaps back with a strangled yelp just in time to dodge the burning torch swung at him by another man, one whose glazed-over eyes and jerky movements indicate that his mind has been taken over by the scourge.

Father Batu wants to darkly jest that he hasn’t seen Khunbish so shocked since the incident with the bolt paper. But his brief amusement quickly sours into concern as he watches the infected man lunge towards Khunbish again, who hasn’t moved a muscle. Twisting the mechanism on the barrel of his custom-made firearm (created for the Father by the last of the Powder Kegs just after his departure from the Healing Church—the spiteful old woman had clearly been thrilled to stick it to the Church one final time before she passed on) to fire a single shot rather than a spread, the Father raises his modified pistol and hits the shambling man in the chest dead on.

The bullet stuns the beast-addled man in his tracks and snaps Khunbish out of his shocked state so that he can dive out of the way. Father Batu charges past him with a wild snarl, axe raised. The infected does not even get the chance to think about defending himself before the sharp blade tears through his exposed neck with one powerful swing. The overwhelming odor of fresh blood—gushing out of the gaping wound like a bubbling spring—sings to Father Batu, metallic yet oddly sweet like an expensive sugary confection (the kind that Tani liked to gaze adoringly at in the window of a sweet shop when she was younger) laced with mercury, as he continues to reflexively hack away at the body. It’s enough to make a man sick.

“Boss…? O-oi, Boss!” Father Batu can hear Chingis’s voice, but it sounds as faint as if there were a deep wide ocean between them rather than the other hunter standing just a couple of feet behind him.

“Y-ye can stop now, Boss, ‘e’s already dead!” Khunbish sounds just as muted, but Father Batu feels the smallest amount of pressure on his shoulder and spins around with a feral growl, axe raised and dripping with blood. Khunbish trips over his feet with an undignified squawk in an attempt to scrabble backwards as quickly as possible, and something about that pathetic high-pitched noise starts to dispel the red mist that obscures Father Batu’s vision. As the Father’s sanity begins to return, Chingis rushes over to his fallen comrade and quickly helps him to his feet. The stockier man places himself in between the former Church hunter and his old friend, who is gripping his side with an expression of growing horror.

“Ye blasted idiots! Don’t go sneakin’ up on a man like that, curse ye!” Father Batu roars as the world comes back into focus and he finds his fellow hunters watching him in wide-eyed terror, weapons in hand. “An’ you!” Khunbish all but cowers behind Chingis as the Father points his axe towards him. “What’re ye doin’, standin’ there like a deer in th’ lamplight? This ain’t the time fer daydreamin’!”

“S-sorry boss,” Khunbish stammers shamefully in between short, shallow breaths. “It’s jus’...that bloke was me ol’ mate Giorgos[[1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29249544/chapters/72131568#note1)]. We’ve been goin’ to the pub twice a week for a pint fer years, an’ I _swear_ on me mum’s grave that ‘e’s never shown _any_ signs o’ the plague til tonight! Maybe them old biddys ‘ave a point; maybe there is somethin’ strange in the air tonight…”

“Be that as it may,” Father Batu says, gruff expression softening slightly as he finally notices the anxious looks coming from the other two hunters, “‘Tis our job as hunters to put ev’ry sorry soul who’s lost themselves to th’ scourge of the beast to rest, no matter who they used t’ be before. I’m sure yer mate wouldn’t want to see you ‘armed by the monster that consumed him, aye?”

“Ye sure about that, Boss?” Chingis pipes up unexpectedly, doubt creeping into his voice.

But Father Batu doesn’t hear his words; his attention is fixed upon the scent of fresh blood, carried south by the gentle evening breeze. He takes a deep breath of the sweet, intoxicating perfume and sways slightly as he takes a few steps towards the other two hunters (as they step back), sniffing the air. Then, as if suppressing the animalistic instinct to hunt for the source of the scent, he stops dead in his tracks and shakes his head furiously to dissipate the fog creeping back into his head. “Come on then, lads, best keep movin’ before more beasts show up,” he grumbles as he turns on his heel and takes the road behind him, not stopping until he puts as much distance between himself and the intoxicating smell as possible.

* * *

Once the Father passes the rows of coffins that line the street (with the occupied ones sealed shut with locks and chains, just in case their occupants arise from the slumber of death) and turns a corner, Chingis and Khunbish exchange sighs of relief. They then turn their attention to the bleeding gash in Khunbish’s side from Father Batu swinging his weapon with wild abandon. “Hrm, it looks pretty shallow t’ me,” Chingis observes as they try to quickly patch it up with their limited supply of bandages before another beast sniffs out the scent of blood. “If this had been a deliberate swing, th’ Boss would’ve gutted ya like a fish!”

“Yeah, but his axe was drippin’ wit’ beast blood...” Khunbish pauses with a shudder and a wince as the alcohol-and-incense-infused fabric touches the open wound. Once he collects his thoughts again, he asks in a resigned tone, “Oi, if I start goin’ all… beast-like, will ye—?”

“Honestly? Ye’re not th’ one I’m worried about turnin’ right now, mate,” Chingis interrupts in a miserable voice. Khunbish can practically hear the fear building in his voice as he continues. “If anythin’, I think what’s left o’ Father Batu’ll kill us both if we don’t do somethin’ before it’s too late…”

The two hunters exchange apprehensive looks. Do they stand a chance at all against what was once the man who taught them everything they know about hunting beasts now that he’s been infected by the scourge? And what’s to become of his daughter, should they either succeed or fail?

* * *

No matter how many of the beasts are cut down, fresh hordes of the vile creatures seem to spring from the shadows around every corner. With the three hunters presently stuck in the southernmost district of Central Yharnam thanks to a jammed elevator, Father Batu takes one look at his tired and injured companions before making a call that goes against all of his usual instincts: retreat across the old aqueduct to a secluded part of Cathedral Ward, the Tomb of Oedon.

In the time before the hunt, the Tomb had been a graveyard for the influential cityfolk and lesser Church officials with family who lived outside of the Cathedral Ward. Nowadays, graveyards are a thing of the past; there just aren’t enough undertakers to deal with the bodies piling up, hence the piles of coffins that line the streets. As the hunters fight their way past more mobs of beasts and up a flight of stairs to the Tomb proper, they’re greeted with a decrepit graveyard in a similar state of disuse. Tree roots growing wildly have unleveled the cobblestone pathways, many gravestones have been upended or broken entirely, and even the shrine to Oedon in the center is tilting sideways.

However, the hunters don’t mind the Tomb’s state of ruin; after making sure that the beasts from the city have not followed them up the stairs, the three hunters can finally catch their breath and reload their weapons. Father Batu has only been here once since leaving the Healing Church, but he’s fairly certain that the gate at the back of the Tomb connected to the Chapel of Oedon—and the rest of the Cathedral Ward—is still locked. (In fact, he knows that the gate has been locked since his departure from the Church as he found the key for it among his possessions years later. He considered returning it, but then figured that if Central Yharnam was ever completely overrun by the beasts it would be his only way to get Tani and himself to relative safety.) As long as they don’t turn their backs to the staircase, this is the safest place in Yharnam they could be right now.

Or at least it will be once Father Batu has dealt with the issue that’s been weighing on his mind as he led Chingis and Khunbish to the Tomb. Even here in this empty, abandoned graveyard the Father can smell the sweet aroma of fresh beast blood, and it’s not coming from the remnants of the slain beasts that stain all of their clothing. Chingis and Khunbish have been keeping their distance from him for a while now, hanging back out of earshot and whispering among themselves. Khunbish has been favoring his right side and Chingis has been going out of his way to keep himself between Father Batu and the other hunter. The fur pelts on their backs seem to be spreading outwards—

(At as safe of a distance from the Father as they can chance without arousing suspicion, Chingis and Khunbish watch Father Batu warily as they prepare themselves physically and mentally for what’s to come. During their flight across the aqueduct, the warning signs of beasthood were unmistakable: the pronounced hunch of the Father’s shoulders, the black fur poking out of the scarf wound around his mouth and nose, the fact that he hasn’t managed to string together a sentence longer than three words…)

—and this plus their gaunt expressions and clouded eyes tells him that the scourge of the beast is slowly creeping into their minds.

(“Feels like this night’s gone on for a whole week, don’t it Boss?” Khunbish stammers nervously, reloading the last of his quicksilver bullets into his rifle spear with shaking hands. The only response he receives is a guttural growl and Khunbish shoots his fellow hunter one last desperate look. Chingis shakes his head sadly.)

He knows what he must do. Father Batu tries to push all emotional objections to the thought of putting down two of his closest friends like the animals they have become. Better to take them out now while they still have some semblance of their humanity than when the beast blood has changed them into something unrecognizable.

(They know what they must do. Chingis and Khunbish have to push aside all emotional objections to the thought of putting down their friend and mentor like the animal he has become. This may be the last chance they’ll have before the transformation is complete and the beast is at full strength.)

It’s now or never.

(It’s now or never.)

* * *

As the church bells toll in the distance, Father Batu raises his modified pistol just as Khunbish readies his rifle spear. Chingis jukes to the side as both guns go off, dodging the spray of pellets from both sides as he heads straight for the infected hunter with his saw cleaver extended. But Father Batu merely shrugs off the hits to his shoulder as if they were raindrops rather than metal shrapnel, and dodges out of the range of Chingis’s opening swing. Only a frantic dodge roll saves the shorter hunter from taking the blade of the Father’s axe right to the face.

Khunbish isn’t so lucky; even though he dodges most of the scattershot, a particularly sharp bit of shrapnel slices right through the bandages on his side. Father Batu’s eyes widen and he freezes in place as the syrup-thick scent of fresh blood hits his nose. Taking advantage of this opening, Chingis raises his saw cleaver again and slashes upwards. The serrated blade tears through the tattered scarf to reveal the fangs of a beast underneath. With a roar, the Father stumbles back and Chingis gets in a few more hits before he’s thrown into a cluster of broken tombstones with a bone-snapping crunch by a powerful swing of the axe.

Before Father Batu can advance on the stunned hunter, another volley of quicksilver pellets hits him in the back and he spins around with a low growl. Khunbish quickly snaps his trick weapon into its shorter spear form and holds his ground as the Father charges at him, eyes gleaming wildly and axe raised. At the very last moment, he pulls out the lit molotov cocktail from behind his back and lobs it at the advancing beast. It hits the Father square in the chest and the smell of burning hair and fur fills the air as the beast lets out an inhuman shriek. Khunbish uses this distraction to duck around and reach the dazed Chingis.

“I don’t think… ye should’ve done that, mate,” Chingis says through a mouthful of blood as Khunbish scrambles to help him up. “He jus’ looks more angry…”

As the flames die out and Father Batu charges towards them again, Khunbish looks around wildly before spotting the flight of stairs at the very back of the tomb. With no time to explain the plan forming in his head, he just grabs Chingis’s shoulder and points wildy towards the stairs before yanking him to the side out of the path of the Father’s axe. Though his eyes are still unfocused, Chingis responds with what Khunbish hopes is a nod and the two men take off in separate directions across the graveyard. Khunbish is too focused on not tripping over the uneven stones to even look behind him and see if he’s the unlucky one Father Batu is chasing after, but a shot ringing out followed by a cry cut short by the sickening crunch of bone and sinew behind him answers that question for him.

‘ _Hang in there, mate!_ ’ Khunbish thinks as he sprints up the stairs, although he knows in his heart that there’s no way the beast will let his friend live. But maybe if he can clamber over the gate and get help from the Church hunters in Cathedral Ward… He leaps at the ornate metal gate and almost manages to get a leg over onto the other side before a huge clawed hand grabs him by the fur vest and throws him down onto the stone walkway.

Khunbish’s vision swims as he uses the butt of his rifle spear to hoist himself up, his right side twinging in agony as it absorbed the brunt force of the impact. Trapped against the railing of the walkway, he thrusts out wildly with his spear in a blind panic, hoping to hit an eye or another weak spot. But Father Batu merely ducks out of range before leaping forward with an almighty roar, tackling Khunbish into the rusted railing and sending both of them plummeting to the ground below.

For once in his life, Khunbish is lucky: the impact of hitting the edge of the small roof jutting out of the wall at just the right angle to snap his neck means that his demise is quick, too sudden to feel much pain.

* * *

An unfamiliar scent hits Father Batu’s nostrils as a figure ascends the stairs to the Tomb, pulling his attention away from the corpse he’s been mindlessly hacking away at. This new hunter is younger than him with long, dark hair pulled back in a short ponytail and dark eyes that widen at the sight of the mass of flesh at the Father’s feet that hardly resembles a human anymore. Judging by the way the Yharnamite hunter garb he wears doesn’t quite fit him and the odd grip on the handle of his saw cleaver, he has only just arrived in the city. This might just be the first hunt he’s ever taken part in.

And it will be the last. Father Batu will show him some mercy by ending his life before he is consumed by the scourge of the beast that has taken hold of the whole city. It’s the least he can do for a fellow outsider.

"...Beasts all over the shop... You'll be one of them, sooner or later..." he growls before turning to face the newcomer with a wide swing of his axe.

* * *

This new hunter is persistent, Father Batu will give him that much. Most sane people would’ve cut and run by now. And yet here he is, breathing heavily as he empties another vial of blood to heal the heavy injuries that he’s taken before shifting his stance as the Father reaches the top of the stairs. But the hunter will run out of healing options soon and Batu has him cornered up here. The gate to the Chapel of Oedon is locked, the path up here is a dead end. There is nowhere to run and not enough room for the hunter to dodge past him. He is trapped.

Perhaps the hunter doesn’t quite realize this as he tries to force his way past anyway, but Father Batu’s axe catches him right in the chest and slams him down onto the cobblestones. Looking around wildly once he recovers, it finally seems to dawn on the hunter that there’s nowhere left to run. The Father has him pinned down in this corner, and there’s nothing for him to do now but die...

...when suddenly the hunter pulls out a very familiar-looking music box and turns the key. The second that the first notes hit Father Batu’s ears, the last fragments of his humanity suddenly come bubbling up to the surface in his brain and he reels back as his memories flood back. What is he doing here? Where have Chingis and Khunbish gone off to? As the Father staggers backward, the hunter uses this opening to dodge past him and leap off the walkway, landing on the small roof below before jumping down onto the cobblestones safely. In a daze, Father Batu’s eyes can’t help but follow the hunter until he spots an unmistakably familiar red hat, caught between a fresh corpse and a broken roof tile. Was that…?

Had he…?

...where did the hunter get that music box? Has something happened to Tani?

A feral, untempered rage begins to blaze in his mind, suppressing the last fleeting thoughts as Father Batu’s body shakes uncontrollably before the beastial transformation is complete. The monster leaps forward with a howl, hitting the ground running until he pounces upon his prey, pinning him to the ground. There is nothing left but raw instinct and the desire to kill as the beast’s jaws tear into the hunter’s throat before he can even scream. After a few fruitless gasps for air, the last spark of life in the hunter’s eyes dies out and his body dematerializes as he is sent back into the dream from whence he came.

But Father Batu’s humanity is lost forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism is appreciated!
> 
> Triggers/Warnings: Blood and Violence, Brief mention of vomit, Guns, Character Deaths, Mentions of deadly plagues, (Fantasy) Religious references
> 
> 1 Some NPC names have been changed somewhat to fit the setting. Since I couldn’t find any direct meaning for the name Munokhoi, his new name is derived from “the Greek name Γεώργιος (Georgios), which was derived from the Greek word γεωργός (georgos) meaning "farmer, earthworker"” according to [Behind the Name](https://www.behindthename.com/name/george). [ [return to text](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29249544/chapters/72131568#return1) ]


	3. The Daughter Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Alt. 10 - "Please come back"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [thegaywhumpvampire](https://thegaywhumpvampire.tumblr.com/)/ [ineptdetective](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineptdetective/) and [sunflowersandink](https://sunflowersandink.tumblr.com/) / [SilverSkiesAtMidnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverSkiesAtMidnight/pseuds/SilverSkiesAtMidnight) for beta reading!

A full moon will rise over Yharnam tonight. The beasts will emerge from the shadows seeking the flesh of the innocent and thirsting for blood. The hunters will emerge from their homes seeking beasts to slay, and the hunt will begin once again.

The sounds of the neighbors outside making last-minute repairs to the defenses around their homes (sharpening the metal stakes, twisting fresh barbed wire around the window gratings and cursing loudly when their fingers slip, reinforcing the ramshackle wooden barricades, clicking a myriad of heavy locks and bolts shut) drift in from the street below as Tani glumly pushes her peas around her plate in a clockwise formation. She’s not hungry at all; the sun hasn’t even begun to set. But there’ll be no chance to eat once night falls and the beasts of Yharnam prowl the city, filling the air with the tearing of flesh, the snapping of bones, and the screams of anyone foolish enough to remain outside on the night of a hunt.

Even so, Tani can’t work up the appetite to even attempt to finish her vegetables. Not while her father sits across the table from her, scarfing down his meal in preparation for tonight. Not while a gnawing worry in the pit of her stomach eats away at her. She’s too concerned for the health and sanity of everyone at this table to even give voice to the sarcastic observation that if _she_ were the one tearing through the food in front of her like a beast, Tani’s dad would be scolding _her_ for her abhorrent table manners.

Tani remembers a time when she was younger and the hunt was still just an annual occurrence. Slowly but steadily, the scourge had claimed more and more victims until the hunt became a monthly event. And it isn’t only the behavior of the beasts that has changed; the people of Yharnam have also become more sullen and withdrawn as the nights grow longer and the hunts more frequent. Alice, Hansel, and Norbert have all lost both of their parents to the beasts and dropped out of school shortly afterward; Tani hasn’t seen them since. Even her neighbors seem more petty and mean-spirited nowadays, shooting her and her father dark looks and muttering about “outsiders” whenever they pass them in the streets.

The most drastic changes have happened to the hunters that still haven’t succumbed to the scourge, her father included. They say that the clerics of the Healing Church transform into the most hideous beasts of them all. Tani’s father had left the Church years ago, but this has not quelled her worries that the beastly potential still lurks within him.

Several times now he’d come home from the hunt still in his blood-drenched attire (which normally he’d never bring into the house), eyes clouded with either numbness or rage. He wouldn’t respond coherently to any of her attempts to talk to him; at best, he’d glare at her for a tense moment then stomp off to his room without another word. At worst, her father would let out a low, beastial growl and stare at her with wild eyes—as if waiting for the right moment to pounce—until Tani darted to her room and barricaded the door with her heavy dresser. She would then curl up in the far corner, sharpest kitchen knife in hand, not daring to leave again until she could hear loud snoring coming from across the hallway.

After some cautious experimentation (on the rare occasions when she could pluck up the courage to not immediately bolt for the safety of her bedroom), Tani had finally found a way to bring him back from these terrifying fugue states. It had been a lucky accident on her part—she hadn’t even heard the door open when she turned around and suddenly her father was behind her, covered head to toe in blood and staring down at her with a vacant unsettling expression. The tiny music box that her father had played to coax her to sleep when she was much younger just so happened to be the only thing in Tani’s reach as she stumbled backwards. Without thinking, she wound the key with shaking hands, hoping that the familiar melody would at least pacify him long enough for her to get to safety.

To her relief, the song had an instantaneous effect—her father shook his head as if to clear away the fog of bloodlust from his brain, then grumpily asked why she was up so early in the morning without having breakfast started. To which she retorted that if he was going to track bloody footprints all over the house, then _he_ could clean all of the floors this week! When her father fled the house afterwards, it was for the much more human reason of sheer embarrassment.

Now the tiny music box made of dark wood with ornate silver detailing never leaves Tani’s sight. At the moment it sits on the dining table, easily within arms reach should her father’s mood suddenly change and his humanity slip away again. Depending on his reaction to what she’s been working up the courage to say to him all afternoon, this might be a justifiable fear. But her father has always taught her to speak her mind, so that’s what she’s going to do. (Just after she tips what’s left of her dinner down onto her apron, in case she gets sent to bed early and has to subsist on _vegetables_ until her father leaves the house.)

“Dad,” she begins hesitantly, ditching her usual nickname for him in order to prove that she’s serious this time, “I want to join in the hunt with you, Chingis, and Khunbish.”

Silence fills the room as Tani waits for the needle to drop and her father to process what she’s just asked. The young woman has thought about this for a while now and realizes that the only way that she can protect her father from the beastly scourge is to come with him on the hunt, tiny music box on hand in case the beast blood rears its ugly head while he’s out there. Otherwise, he’s liable to be killed by other hunters, or perhaps even Aranella the Crow (Tani has trouble falling asleep on the nights of the hunt as she has nightmares of waking up to find the remains of her father laid out on the streets in a blasphemous effigy, with the carrion crows feasting upon the decaying corpse).

Tani has been mentally bracing for her father’s loud and immediate disapproval, so his continuing silence instead is somewhat unnerving. Even so, she seizes the opening to further her argument.

“I’m serious, Dad! Ms. Dana[[1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29249544/chapters/72650976#note1)] has been bedridden for the past few months, so do you know what I’ve been doing when I said I was at school? Ms. Rosamund let me borrow a saw spear to clear out the giant rats that have taken over her old storeroom ever since her husband passed away, and guess what? I killed every single one of them without getting scratched or bitten once! And...and I borrowed one of your old pistols from the shed out back, and Miss Gerel let me use some defective ammo and old cans for target practice. Guess who can shoot seven cans with just two bullets? I have what it takes to be a hunter! And I can prove it if you’d just let me go out hunting with you…”

Tani thought there’d be at least some reaction from her father regarding her taking one of the guns from the well-locked shed in the back garden, but there’s still no response from him. His face is utterly blank and for a moment Tani considers reaching for the music box on the table. “Oi, Dad! Have you even been listening to me?” She raises her voice to just below a shout in desperation. This seems to jolt her father back to the present.

“Sorry, girlie, my mind was off somewhere else.” At least he has the decency to admit that he wasn’t paying the least bit of attention. Or is he just pretending not to have heard her this whole time? “What were ye sayin’?”

 _Flippin’ heck!_ “Urgh, nevermind,” Tani grumbles as she snatches the tiny music box off the table along with their plates and marches to the kitchen before she can snap at her father for spacing out. (It won’t do much good to send him into a temper on the night of the hunt…) Luckily she doesn’t stick the music box into her apron pocket full of leftovers, but that’s only due to her shoving her hand in there in frustration and pulling out a fistful of mashed peas afterward. Tani just barely resists the urge to throw a plate or two onto the stone tile below; instead she tears off the apron and lobs it into the sink, sending a gentle plume of soap suds upwards.

Why does she have to be stuck inside during the hunts doing chores like a princess from a silly fairy tale? She should be out there in the city, hunting with her dad like every Yharnamite who can hold a weapon! If it was just her in this house, she would…!

She would…

...what _would_ she do if something happened to her father and she was all on her own? Alice had gone to live with her grandmother when her parents were killed, and Hansel and Norbert probably had family nearby to take them in as well. But all of Tani’s family were dead and buried in a land faraway that she barely even remembered. Maybe Miss Gerel would hire her as a shopgirl for the general store or something…

No! She doesn’t even want to think about this! “You know,” Tani hollers back towards the dining room, hoping that her volume masks the worry in her voice, “if you’re feeling a bit out of it tonight, Boss, perhaps you should take the night off. Chingis and Khunbish will be fine for one hunt; the last thing anyone needs is _you_ daydreaming on the job!”

‘ _Especially if something happens to you because you can’t keep your head on straight…_ ’ she adds in her head.

Her father snaps back with a “witty” response that she’d normally shoot down in a second, but Tani’s heart just isn’t into it tonight. What if something were to happen? What if this is the last conversation that she and her father ever have? And if not tonight, what if the fate that eventually befalls all hunters occurs next month? Or the next?

She can’t take much more of this...

Tani and her father say nothing else to each other while he makes the final adjustments to his hunting kit before the sun fully sets. She can hear the loud snaps of the mechanism in the trick axe and the soft click of quicksilver bullets loaded into his custom firearm, and she wonders if he’s also checking the door of the shed to see the scratches on the locks from her first few attempts to pick them. As her father meets up with Chingis and Khunbish to do one last check of the exterior of the house, Tani peers out of the side window by the gate to wave goodbye as she usually does. But she can barely keep a brave face on long enough for them to turn away once the heavy gate has slid shut with a final thud.

Next time. Next time she _will_ get her father to see that she’s capable of becoming a hunter and helping to fight back the scourge of the beast too. Next time she won’t be stuck at home waiting, watching for the sun to rise and waiting to hear the front door open, music box clutched in her hand just in case. Her father just has to get through one last hunt, and then she’ll be out there to make sure that the beast blood doesn’t try and take him from her. Tani doesn’t care if she has to buy or steal her own gear, she will be out in those streets like a proper hunter next time!

“Please come back…” she whispers at their retreating backs before they disappear completely into the evening fog rolling into the city like an ominous cloud of smoke.

* * *

The sun has not fully set on Yharnam yet, but Tani can already hear the usual bursts of shrill, hysterical laughter coming from the house down the lane. Since the hunts began to occur monthly, her neighbors have started getting together in one house and having loud parties of some sort all through the night until sunrise. The concept doesn’t seem very safe to her at all: the loud noise will certainly attract the attention of any passing beasts and if they ever break through the house’s outer defences, the people inside will be helpless to fend off the invading beasts in their blood-drunk states. Even so, sometimes Tani wishes that she was in there with them, no matter how obnoxious the house may sound from the outside. (Though it’s unlikely that she or her father are included on the invite list.) When her father isn’t around, she’s all too aware of how lonely it is in this big empty house.

Since she can’t seem to fall asleep no matter how hard she tries, Tani sits at the window by the locked gate with her music box, absentmindedly winding up the key and letting the gentle melody carry off into the night. The tiny music box can’t possibly hope to drown out the growls and the screams of the hunt, but it gives Tani's restless hands something to do (however pointless it may be) as she waits for the hunt to be over and her father to return home. She’s also hoping that the old lullaby will lull her to sleep, but that hope is dashed when a silhouette appears behind the curtain.

“Hello? Is someone in there?” Tani is startled to hear a muffled voice outside the window, especially one that lacks the distinctive Yharnam accent. If the gate is still locked, then this person must have climbed up from the sewers… She lifts the curtains just enough to peer through and sees a dark-haired man in bloodstained clothing, who seems just as surprised to see her staring back. He looks younger than her dad, maybe a little younger than Khunbish even. The stranger’s clothes betray that he’s clearly not a native to the city—no one from around here would be foolish enough to go out on the night of the hunt without at least a thick coat for protection—but the familiar scent is strong enough to waft through the tiny crack in the window that she opens to speak to him.

“Who... are you?” she hesitantly asks back. “I don't know your voice, but I know that smell... Are you a hunter?”

“Yeah, I suppose I am now,” the man replies with a small sigh, resignation in his voice. Then his eyes widen as he belatedly seems to process her question. “Ah, sorry, where are my manners? You’re one of the few people I’ve come across this whole evening who hasn’t screamed at me, tried to kill me, or both. I’m Roland, what’s your name?”

“I’m Tani.” She wrinkles her nose at his odd answer. “What do you mean you “suppose” you’re a hunter? How can you not know?” From her vantage point, Tani can see the saw cleaver in Roland’s hand and the pistol on his belt. The weapons he carries and the fact that he’s out in the streets on the night of the hunt surely mean that he’s a hunter, right? He’s _definitely_ not from around here if that’s a question he needs answered, that’s for sure. “I’m training to be a hunter...if my dad will ever let me join the hunt anyways.”

“Well, this really isn’t what I had in mind when I decided to travel here…” Roland responds with a low chuckle, gesturing in the general direction of the main street, from which blows the faintest wafts of burning beast. He goes on to explain that he’s from foreign parts (which Tani had already presumed), and came to Yharnam to look for a cure for the strange illness that has befallen his nephew[[2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29249544/chapters/72650976#note2)]. “He’s about your age, but he’s been struggling with a weak constitution for most of his life,” Roland adds. “Poor kid hasn’t been outside in years; even if he were well enough to go out and play, his parents would have a conniption!”

Desperate for a cure, William’s mother had heard about the miracles of Yharnam blood ministration and pleaded with her youngest brother to seek out the fabled city, as the local doctors were utterly helpless to treat whatever blight had befallen her only son. “I, uh, didn’t really have an excuse to stay anymore,” he explains vaguely, in a tone that implicitly begs Tani not to ask for clarification. So off Roland went to seek out the city of legend. But when he got here, the first person he asked about healing blood (an old man who never gave Roland his name) strapped him to a bed and injected some strange blood into his veins despite his protests. He woke up hours later with the sun setting over the unfamiliar city and vicious beasts roaming the streets. “And...I guess that makes me a hunter now,” he finishes with a shrug. “But if that’s what it takes for me to find a cure for my nephew, then I’ll just have to roll with it, I suppose.”

“Ah.” Tani, with no frame of reference to commiserate about extended family or even traveling to Yharnam—as she has no clear memories of either and couldn’t find her original homeland on a map—really doesn’t know how to respond to that. So she tries to give out what little helpful information she can. “Well, er, if you’re new to the hunt, you should go and get some pointers from my dad! He’s trained up loads of folks from the city to become hunters.” Although besides Chingis and Khunbish, Tani hasn’t seen many of them around anymore. Not Sir Tobias, or Ms. Margaret Mayfair, or Mister Oswald, or Auntie Alexis...

“But…” Here Tani hesitates. Should she really be asking this from someone she doesn’t even know? Well, the worst thing that could happen is that Roland will say no, so it’s worth a shot right? “Even if you don’t want his help, could… could you still keep an eye out for him while you’re out there, for me?”

Tani braces for rejection, but is pleasantly surprised when Roland agrees without hesitation. “Really? Oh, thank you!” Tani nearly squeaks. “Right, my dad’s a good bit taller and older than you, with long dark brown hair but you probably won’t see it under his black leather hat. You’re probably not going to tell he’s my dad from looking at his face because, uh, we don’t really look alike except for both having curly hair. He’s wearing all black except for this ratty grey scarf that looks like those shawls the Church folk wear and he’s got an axe. He should be out there with Chingis and Khunbish—you’ll be able to pick those two numbskulls out of a crowd because they’re the only two hunters in the city stupid enough to be wearing bits of beast pelt on the night of the hunt! Khunbish is the one with the bright red hat on his head, you won’t be able to confuse the two of them.” Roland slowly nods along with her as she blurts this all out at the speed of sound.

“Oh, I mustn’t forget. Here, you might need this.” After some struggling with the heavy pane, Tani lifts up the window a bit more, just wide enough to pass the tiny music box to Roland. “My dad… forgets himself sometimes,” she explains before the new hunter can open his mouth to ask why exactly he’s holding the small trinket. “But this music box plays one of his favorite songs, and when I play it for him he remembers who he is again. I know it might sound strange...but if he’s lost himself you might need this to bring him back. But be careful with it, it’s very special! Dad brought it with us when we left our original homeland, so it's irreplaceable, okay?”

“Alright.” Roland promises to return with the music box and her dad, if he can, before asking if he can open the gate to the main street instead of having to trek back through the sewers again. Tani allows it with a shrug; the great gate that cut the main street off from the square in front of the house had been shut hours ago and the incense lanterns should keep all the beasts away regardless. With the loud clanking of the mechanism and the creaking of the gate, the new hunter takes off with a wave, heading east towards the great bridge to Cathedral Ward.

“Please come back…” Tani whispers as Roland disappears around the corner. She can only hope that he’s successful in locating her father. Belatedly, Tani wonders if she should have offered to go with him. He is new to Yharnam after all...

...but maybe she’d just get in the way. With a frustrated sigh, Tani sinks down into the couch cushions in a huff, with nothing to occupy her restless hands anymore. Once again, all she can do is wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism is appreciated!
> 
> Triggers/Warnings: Whump of a Minor, Implied (Accidental) Parental Neglect, Brief Gore, Mentions of deadly plagues, (Fantasy) Religious references
> 
> 1 Means “wise” in Persian according to [Behind the Name](https://www.behindthename.com/name/dana-4) (and I couldn’t find many feminine names that meant “teacher” or “encouragement”, and definitely no names that meant “You can”). [ [return to text](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29249544/chapters/72650976#return1) ]  
> 2 Since there are no Time Shenanigans™ afoot in this AU (regarding Roland anyway), William is now Roland’s nephew rather than his son so that both of their ages make sense in relation to each other. [ [return to text](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29249544/chapters/72650976#return2) ]


	4. The Daughter Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 10 - “I’m sorry, I didn’t know”  
> Day 14 - “I didn’t mean it”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [thegaywhumpvampire](https://thegaywhumpvampire.tumblr.com/)/ [ineptdetective](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineptdetective/) and [sunflowersandink](https://sunflowersandink.tumblr.com/) / [SilverSkiesAtMidnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverSkiesAtMidnight/pseuds/SilverSkiesAtMidnight) for beta reading!

Roland finally returns as the last rays of sunlight are slowly disappearing over the horizon, bathing the city in faint orange light and giving the sky itself the appearance of being aflame. Such an apocalyptic image is a fitting omen of the news that the hunter brings with him.

Somewhere along his travels through the city, he’s acquired some proper Yharnamite hunting clothes—still dripping with blood—and a sword with a scabbard that looks like a large hammer carried on his back. He’s likely taken from some unfortunate soul, who has no more use for the items in death. This change in wardrobe does help Roland stick out less like a sore thumb among the unwashed, blood-crusted rabble of the city dwellers; his starched white shirt and burgundy waistcoat with shiny silver buttons he’d been wearing previously made it seem as if he were flaunting his status as an outsider.

On the other hand, a _proper_ Yharnam hunter would have crept up quietly instead of alerting every dog and crow on the block as he makes his way over. Their loud barks and ungodly shrieks, loud enough to be heard over the hysterical laughter that still echoes from the house down the lane, rouse Tani from her light slumber and she dashes back over to the window, anticipating a familiar figure (or figures) following in his wake.

However, Tani’s heart sinks when she realizes that there’s no one following behind Roland as he approaches her house. Although surely her father must have more important things to do than babysit a newcomer to the hunt? Or perhaps the two of them had not crossed paths at all?

“Still can’t find my dad?” she can’t help but blurt out with a tinge of desperation once Roland gets within hearing range.

“...no, I’m afraid not,” Roland replies apologetically. His slight pause before answering lasts less than a second, but Tani can hear the hesitation in his voice in that brief moment of time and feels a fresh spike of dread in the pit of her stomach. This overwhelming anxiety intensifies as Roland pulls out Khunbish’s signature red hat from his pocket. “Tani, I’m so sorry,” he says as he passes it to Tani through the gap in the window.

“Oh, how did this happen…?” Tani asks in a near whisper as she reaches for the bloodstained hat (which Khunbish had gone to great lengths to keep clean despite wearing it for every single hunt; something about seeing it stained with viscera makes Tani’s insides _twist_ ) with trembling hands. But she freezes in shock as she sees the other item that Roland passes back with utmost care: her father’s tiny music box.

“Your father’s friend was already dead when I got there,” Roland explains in a painfully earnest voice. “I’m really not sure what killed him.”

He could be lying about that too, but Tani can make a reasonable guess: the beast blood finally got the best of her father, and Chingis and Khunbish weren’t strong enough to take down the monster that he became. However, the fact that Roland had just given her back the music box proved that whatever remained of her father was gone—hence the hunter returning the tiny trinket he had no further use for. Some detached part of Tani’s brain that isn’t paralyzed by the oncoming grief wonders what exactly Roland did before he came to Yharnam. His voice and face might be able to hide his lie flawlessly, but his actions tell a different story.

Tani bites down hard on her lip, fists clenched as she tries not to cry in front of the stranger at the window. Had her father, a veteran hunter and a former cleric of the Healing Church, really been killed by a man who had never hunted a beast until a few hours ago?

“Listen, Tani,” Roland begins hesitantly. If she could look up at him without bursting into tears, Tani would see even more evidence of his guilt in the way that he turns away from the window, as if unable to meet her gaze a second longer, even through the sheer curtain between them. “I really don't think it's safe for you here anymore. I’m not sure what a night of the hunt is usually like in Yharnam, but the streets are full of men who’ve lost their minds to their bloodlust. I...I think I might be the only person here who’s actively trying to just hunt the beasts instead of mindlessly attacking everything that moves. The only other hunter I’ve talked to who still seems in full possession of her sanity told me that everyone else in the city has already been infected by the scourge.”

“But there’s worse sorts around than just the people who have turned. I ran into a massive beast twice as tall as a carriage while trying to cross the great bridge into the Cathedral Ward. If a behemoth like that were to make it over here, I doubt that the bars on your window or this tiny lantern full of incense would stop a creature with claws the size of a grown man if it sniffed you out and decided that it wanted you dead. You need to find somewhere more secure before the sun sets, because it’s going to be more difficult to leave after nightfall should things get worse.”

With a stifled sniff, Tani nods solemnly. If the monstrosities that the corrupted Church clergy became are breaching the fortified walls of Cathedral Ward and there are not enough hunters left to stop them, then Roland is probably right about Central Yharnam not being safe anymore. Plus if her father truly is dead, then there’s no point in her staying here anyway. But where would she go, especially if all of the other hunters have turned too? A recent arrival to the city is hardly likely to know of any safe places in Yharnam...

Roland takes her silence as permission to keep going. “There’s a chapel in Cathedral Ward accessible from the city across the top of an aqueduct a little ways south of here. It’s out of the way and mostly abandoned, aside from an old man in rags named Niall. But he told me to seek out anyone who remains free of the infection and have them take shelter there, since the main floor of the chapel is loaded with massive pots of the beast-repellent incense you have burning outside your window. And they seem to be working; the chapel doors are all open, but none of the beasts or infected humans outside will go anywhere within a ten foot radius of the building.”

Niall… The name isn’t familiar to Tani. Then again, she doesn’t remember anyone in Cathedral Ward except the other children who she went to school with when she and her father were still living within the walls. “Do you trust him?” Tani asks Roland when she feels confident that she can keep her voice level.

‘ _And should I trust you?_ ’

“Hmm, not completely,” Roland answers after a pause. “There’s something... odd about him, even though he seems saner than most of the other people in Yharnam I’ve run across so far. But here’s the thing: he’s old and frail, and I don’t think he’d be able to put up much of a fight if push comes to shove. You said that you were training to be a hunter, right?” Tani nods again. “If you had a weapon, I think you and anyone else who still has their sanity that I can convince to head there would be able to stop him if he tries anything; I don’t even think he’s armed in any way.”

“Anyone else?” There were others left in the city who were still human? Probably not her neighbors, who were still laughing and screaming like banshees after all this time.

“Well, there’s an old woman a few streets away who was haranguing me for a safe place.” Roland’s tone of voice indicates that he’s got half a mind to leave her be, if not for his guilty conscience afterward. “I wouldn’t want to send either of you anywhere alone anyways. But I suppose there’s also the clinic…” Roland’s voice trails off. “Actually, never mind. Even if Niall isn’t… human, I think I trust him over someone whose face I’ve never seen… So, what do you say?”

Being trapped in an unfamiliar part of the city with a bunch of strangers does not sound very appealing to Tani at all. But Roland (and Niall by proxy) has a point about there being safety in numbers. And should she refuse, she’d just be stuck at home all alone, miserable, and restless until dawn breaks. “Alright,” she finally decides, “I’ll just get my things ready and head over there right away.”

“All by yourself?” Roland blanches at her words with a shudder. “That’s not a good idea, Tani; the streets are crawling with beasts right now, and the path to the chapel runs through the sewers, where the monsters are even worse. No, I’m coming with you—the old woman’s house is on the way anyway, there’s no reason for me not to escort you there as well.”

In her heart of hearts, Tani doesn’t want to go anywhere with the man who killed her father. But Roland has a point (loathe as she is to admit it): cutting her way through a storeroom full of giant rats isn’t comparable to having to fight through the beast-filled streets on the night of the hunt alone. Also, she doesn’t have the faintest clue where the Chapel of Oedon or the aqueduct that leads to it even is. Despite this sound reasoning, Tani still has to hide her distraughtness when she tells the hunter that she’ll meet him by the door once she’s got her essentials packed. She shuts the curtains before he can even respond, and gets halfway up the stairs before she can no longer hold back her tears.

When the initial overwhelming wave of sorrow has passed over her, Tani furiously dabs away the last of her tears, thinking of what her father would say if he were to see her sobbing on the stairs like this. Once she’s regained her composure, she makes her way to her bedroom and fishes out her makeshift “hunting kit” (which is just an old set of clothing meant for a boy her age, given to her by Miss Gerel) and her borrowed saw spear from their hiding spot under the floorboards. The shirt, coat, trousers, and work boots still barely fit her, but it’s better than trying to go out on the night of the hunt in a dress. The outfit had come with a hat, but it was too small to fit her bushy red hair under. So Tani tied it up in a yellow and orange scarf that she’d made to go along with the one she’d gifted to her father some time ago. She also grabs her warmest shawl (just in case the chapel is colder than the house) after changing. Aside from that, the only other thing she takes is the survival kit that her father made for her stashed under her bed.

As Tani checks the locks on the doors and shuts off all the lamps as if she’s just going down to the shops, she still can’t shake the dreadful feeling that she’s never going to see this house ever again. At the same time, the urge to get away from this place and all the memories it holds drives her to lock up as quickly as she can. She makes it all the way out into the streets where Roland waits patiently before she realizes that she hasn’t packed a gun. Before she can turn back and head around to the back garden shed, Roland hands her the modified pistol that belonged to her father. “Here, you might need this,” he says, seemingly oblivious to the importance of the weapon. “I mean, I probably shouldn’t be handing guns to kids—”

Despite another wave of despair threatening to pull her under once again, Tani can’t help but wrinkle her nose in indignance. Kid? She’s nearly a young woman!

“—but the beasts out here have gotten the jump on me more than a few times. I don’t have a lot of quicksilver bullets to spare, so don’t shoot if you don’t have to, okay?”

Tani nods mutely. If there was any doubt in her mind left regarding the identity of her father’s killer, it was put to rest when Roland handed her the pistol that had been custom-made for him. Should she say something? Will he say anything? For the moment, they start walking down the street in silence, keeping their focus on staying alert for lurking beasts (which conveniently leaves them free to ignore the unspoken tenseness—that grows with every step forward—between them). As they pass the house full of raunchy partygoers, it’s as if the occupants are laughing hysterically at Tani specifically.

After all, this is what she wanted this whole time, isn’t it? To be outside on the night of the hunt, as a hunter in her own right? And now here she is, at the cost of her father’s life.

* * *

Tani follows the man who killed her father down the maze of cobblestone streets, the gun inadvertently passed down to her weighing heavy in her hands. The eerily quiet streets they take are nearly empty, aside from the occasional fresh corpse that they pass by without a word between them. It only now occurs to Tani that Roland probably cut a bloody swath through the path back to the chapel before he went to fetch Tani and the other person requesting shelter. Still, the hunter remains vigilant regardless—he walks a few paces in front of Tani and whips his whole body around to face the direction of even the most muted of noises until he can determine its source.

Even so, a wild impulsive thought pops into Tani’s head as they head south. The streets are utterly empty, except for the two of them. She could shoot him right now and no one would ever know what she had done. This is the best chance she’ll ever have to avenge her father’s death…

...but then how many of the beasts of Yharnam who had once been normal humans had her father killed over the course of his career as a hunter? Would their families have been in the right to blame him for slaughtering what used to be their loved ones in order to save himself and the rest of Yharnam, and to seek revenge? After all, Roland had just been doing his job as a hunter: putting down a dangerous beast before it could kill again and/or infect others. Plus, if the hunter truly felt no guilt for his part in her father’s death, he wouldn’t have returned the music box and the gun to Tani, would he? He could have just kept both items, not gone back for her, and she would have never known the truth…

But even so—

“This is it.” Deep in thought, Tani nearly walks into Roland as he stops outside an unfamiliar house. Reluctantly, he walks up and knocks on the door. There’s only the briefest of pauses before the person on the other side answers, as if she’s been waiting impatiently for someone to come knocking.

“Oh, what is it now?” The voice of a grouchy old woman responds, annoyance injected into every syllable. “Like I said before, if you hunters got off your arses, we wouldn’t be in this mess! Useless good-fer-nothings, the whole lot of you! Why, if I was still in my prime, I’d have had the streets cleared out of all the filth and been home for tea with time to spare! Wretched outsiders… If you can’t even kill a few measly beasts, then you’re obligated to help me find a nice, safe place, you hear?”

Her words sting like nettles, even while muffled through the thick wooden door. Is this really what the people of Yharnam think of the hunters? But something about her voice sounds very familiar to Tani… “Excuse me, are you Alice’s grandmother?” The young woman goes right up to the door to ask without a sliver of fear in her voice before Roland can say anything. “My name is Tani, Alice and I used to be in the same class together—”

This is as far as Tani gets before she hears a sharp intake of breath from the other side, followed by the furious clattering of locks and deadbolts undone by shaking hands. The door slams open with a loud bang that echoes through the entire street and suddenly Tani is being shoved behind an older woman, who brandishes the pointy end of a threaded cane at an alarmed and confused Roland. “So this is what it’s come to now, is it? Using children as bait to lure decent folk out of their houses, are you? You sick freak! Listen here, outsider, I—”

As Roland ducks out of the range of the trick weapon, exasperated at the out-of-nowhere accusation, Tani moves to place herself between the hunter and the old woman like a shield. “W-wait, what?! Roland didn’t kidnap me! I came with him on my own! He’s going to take me to a safe place in the Cathedral Ward, same as you!”

“And why would he need to do that?” Alice’s grandmother snarls, clutching Tani protectively with one hand while continuing to point the bladed cane towards Roland with the other. “You’re the daughter of one of the old Church hunters and yet here you are, out on the night of the hunt dressed like a chimney sweep’s apprentice? Like I’m supposed to believe that! Where’s your good fer nothing father at then?”

“He— I—” The words die out in Tani’s throat as her resolve crumbles and the tears start flowing once again. 

“Wh—? Oh, oh no…I, I didn’t mean it...” The old woman’s fervor seems to evaporate with every hiccup and hitch of breath from Tani. “I’m so sorry, my dear,” says the old woman in a much gentler voice as Tani can’t stop herself from sobbing into her skirts. “I didn’t mean to say such an awful thing, I don’t know what I was thinking! I had no idea that your father was infected too…” Grief steadily creeps into her voice as Tani feels a few tears fall from above and land on the back of her neck. “It was the same with my Alice… By the time I realized, she already had— And I couldn’t—”

The old woman lets out a heartbroken wail and clings to Tani. Roland hovers uncertainly in the background as the two Yharnam both lose themselves to their own private storms of shared grief, an outsider once again.

* * *

Once the tears have subsided and the wild sorrow has been tamed, Martha (“You can call me Auntie Martha, my dear,” she tells Tani) is considerably nicer to Tani and Roland for the rest of the journey to the Chapel of Oedon. With her superfluous anger having run its course, Martha proves to be a resourceful old woman; aside from her own trick weapon, she’s got a survival kit twice the size of Tani’s, all packed and ready to go. After loading up her and Tani’s arms with heavy blankets (“It’s cold in those old stone buildings in the Ward, do you want us to freeze to death?” she snaps before Roland can say anything.) they set off for their destination, with the hunter leading the way to clear out any beasts lurking in the shadows.

At last, they reach the Tomb of Oedon. Tani can’t help but notice Roland subtly steering them quickly onwards to the Chapel past the iron gate, as if anxious about letting them linger here too long. “Sorry,” the hunter mutters to her quietly as they wait for Martha to ascend the ladder from the flooded basement to the chapel proper. Tani doesn’t need to ask what exactly he’s apologizing for (like Auntie Martha, he couldn’t possibly have known), but she doesn’t have it in her to forgive him out loud just yet.

Up the ladder, past a room lined with bookshelves of old tomes, and up a short flight of stairs is the main chamber of Oedon Chapel. The church is nowhere near the size and scale of the Grand Cathedral, the crown jewel of the Healing Church that rests at the highest point—visible to unenlightened eyes—of Cathedral Ward. Even so, there is an air of grandiosity to the chapel, with the ornate candelabras and soft twilight peeking through the high windows, illuminating the detailed stonework adorning the walls and floors.

Niall is waiting for them by the entrance. Roland is probably right about him not being quite human; the shriveled old man looks as if he’s just crawled out of the forest with the patches of green and brown in various shades across his skin. But he’s at least lucid and friendly as he welcomes them in and invites them to make themselves at home. At the moment, he’s happily curled up in one of the thick blankets that Martha brought as if he’s been swallowed whole by the red fabric.

Tani pulls another blanket around her as she sets up her own post in between the two doors that open into the streets of Cathedral Ward. Although the massive pots of incense that Roland mentioned—some of which are almost as tall as her—will certainly be more than enough to keep any beasts away, Tani still feels shivers running down her spine as she looks towards the open doors, as if sensing the presence of something out there, lurking just out of sight. With a shudder, she turns away and starts digging into her survival kit. As to be expected, there are hunting supplies but no actual food within. She lets out a disappointed sigh and looks up to see Roland exiting through the doors facing northwards, without a word to anyone as he goes.

“Don’t fret dear, he’ll be back,” Martha remarks when Tani leaps up and wonders if she should chase after him. She’s set her own kit down by Tani and is walking back towards Niall. But instead of looking towards the beggar, her eyes are fixed on an empty space in the middle of the floor. “Roland may have prevailed against the beasts of the city, but the monsters here are another breed entirely. Mark my words, it won’t be long before the lantern brings him back here.”

“The...lantern?” Curiosity piqued, Tani walks over to see the old woman hunched over the dead center of the detailed pattern on the floor, grinning like a cat at absolutely nothing at all. Befuddled, she catches Niall’s eye as he peeks out from his blanket, but the old man just gives her a confused shrug, also blind to whatever it is that has caught Martha’s attention. Perhaps she isn’t as sane as they had originally thought.

“Ah, of course.” Before she can protest, Martha grabs Tani’s hand and leads her over to the blank space. “You might not be a dreamer yet, but all hunters make their way to the dream at some point in their careers. Don’t be afraid, dearie, just hold out your hand and you’ll be able to see them…”

At first, nothing happens. Then Tani feels the sensation of tiny hands grasping at her fingers and only the presence of Martha at her back keeps her from leaping backward in surprise. As Niall slowly shuffles forward to see what all the fuss is about, Tani can suddenly see a small lamp on a post in the middle of the floor, glowing with a soft purple light. And at the base are a circle of tiny, vaguely humanoid creatures. “Higgle!” chirps one of them at her in a low, demonic voice. They’re hideous, they’re grotesque, they’re… oddly cute in a strange way?

“Blood moon, is it then, little ones?” Martha asks the tiny creatures, who nod eagerly. “I knew this wasn’t a normal harvest moon, I did... Poor dear,” Martha tutts in the direction which Roland has taken off in. “Chosen as a dreamer on a night like this… He doesn’t have the faintest clue what he’s gotten himself into, has he?” Neither does Tani, as Martha refuses to explain herself to either her or Niall until the moon has risen high in the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism is appreciated!
> 
> Triggers/Warnings: Whump of a Minor, Mentions of deadly plagues, (Fantasy) Religious references, Mentioned Character Death, Grey Morality (compared to the original canon anyway), Offscreen Child Death, Guns, Children with Guns (and other dangerous weapons), Video Game typical kleptomania


	5. The Doctor Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 26 - Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [thegaywhumpvampire](https://thegaywhumpvampire.tumblr.com/)/ [ineptdetective](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineptdetective/) and [sunflowersandink](https://sunflowersandink.tumblr.com/) / [SilverSkiesAtMidnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverSkiesAtMidnight/pseuds/SilverSkiesAtMidnight) for beta reading!

A full moon will rise over Yharnam tonight. The beasts will emerge from the shadows seeking the flesh of the innocent and thirsting for blood. The civilian hunters who patrol the city streets are supposed to cull the infected and keep the rest of the city safe from the scourge, but lately more and more of them have begun to succumb to the plague. And so Doctor Thetis must take matters into her own hands once again.

In her clinic, tucked away at the end of the road on the north side of the city, Thetis spends the last few hours of daylight tending to her patients—those who are stricken with ailments and illnesses other than the scourge of the beast (as much as it pains her as someone who has sworn one oath of medicine and one of repentance, she must turn away all who show symptoms of the beastial plague or risk the infection spreading to those already in her care). She also checks the perimeter of the building, making sure that all potential entry points into her clinic are shut tight before the moon rises and the beasts emerge.

In her previous career, Thetis would have had a full staff to tend to the locking up in preparation for the night of the hunt and other such menial tasks so that all of her attention could be directed towards more important duties. But those days have long since passed; she is now the sole owner of this clinic, as the doctors and nurses who were here before left for the safety of Cathedral Ward and the Healing Church when the plague in Central Yharnam began to worsen.

Doctor Thetis, on the other hand, staunchly refuses to abandon the vulnerable people left in the city who still need her care, especially since she knows the Healing Church and the two major organizations which have branched off from it certainly won’t do anything for them. Despite the long hours and sleepless nights involved, Doctor Thetis feels oddly at peace in her new role. There is something... calming about using her considerable medical expertise to help others now, especially after having done the opposite for so long. Her old colleagues would mock her for her soft-heartedness if they knew, but helping others pull themselves back together just _felt_ so much better to Thetis than methodically taking them apart, piece by bloody piece.

The upside of the clinic’s reduced occupancy is that she no longer has to secure the entire three-story stone building on the nights of the hunt. As long as the windows are firmly latched and the iron gates that shut off all access to the roof from the street have been locked tight, then Thetis can safely sequester herself and her patients in the rooms on the second floor, with her personal quarters on the third floor as a last resort should the doors be breached. If any beasts make it inside the abandoned ground floor over the course of the evening, a few pungent blood cocktails thrown from the upper floor usually prove to be an ample distraction for them, drawing their attention away from exploring the building any further.

It makes Thetis sick to her stomach to even think of the feral beasts lapping up the blood of dubious origin contained in those bottles, getting blood and saliva all over her spotlessly clean floors! However, if it keeps her patients safe for the night, she will grit her teeth and bear it.

This arrangement also keeps her from having to pick up a weapon to defend herself. No matter how bad the scourge outside or the pointed comments from past colleagues got, Doctor Thetis has never felt comfortable with the thought of arming herself (when she left the school in the Unseen Village of Broadleaf, her former compatriots took exceptional glee in pointing out this hypocrisy in regards to the work she had done before her conscience finally caught up with her). In this vein, she has strictly forbidden any firearms in the clinic and the only blades allowed in the building are the scalpels and other surgery tools (to be used for benevolent purposes only).

By the time the setting sun lightly brushes against the tallest spires that adorn the rooftops of Yharnam, Thetis has locked down her entire clinic, save for one last door as she waits for her one remaining “staff member” to return for the night. If there are any trained doctors, nurses, or blood ministers left in Central Yharnam without previous affiliations to the Church, she lacks the money to pay them for their services at the clinic. Even the patients she takes on pay her in blood (or the promise of blood once they are healthy enough) rather than coin. (Just as well; nowadays, the former is far more valuable than the latter.)

Then one day, the old man who claimed to be trained in blood ministration by the Healing Church (he could not produce any proof of these claims, but Thetis had seen enough of his skills with the needle to take his word for it) appeared at her door. He asked for nothing but a room to himself in the clinic in exchange for providing a second set of eyes to watch over the clinic and aiding her in the aspects of healing that call for blood. Thetis was wary at first, but she didn’t recognize him from her time in Broadleaf, and an old man as scruffy as he would never have been accepted into the Choir. Even with the meager amount of patients the clinic takes in nowadays, she was far too short-staffed at the time to consider refusing such a strange but generous offer.

But tonight, his presence brings a new challenge for Doctor Thetis. The sound of metal surgery tools clattering onto the floor up above startles her, and she abandons her post by the door to race up the stairs to the first accessible sickroom on the second floor. Throwing the double doors open in a panic, she finds the old man (he asks everyone to call him “Gramps” though he’s admitted to her that he’s fairly certain that he isn’t anyone’s biological grandfather—as far as he knows, anyway) cursing his stiff joints as he slowly kneels down to pick up the contents of the spilled tray.

The cart on which the tools had sat is stationed beside a gurney occupied by a dark-haired man in well-tailored foreign garb, whom Doctor Thetis has never seen before until now. At first glance, he seems perfectly healthy. Yet he’s still hooked up to a bag of blood—the purpose of which she cannot discern by its color alone. As her previous job entailed knowing hundreds of different types of blood and their properties just by their shade of red, this is of great concern to her.

“Gramps, what have I told you about accepting patients into the clinic without asking for my permission first?” the doctor asks sternly, shooing the old man away from the now contaminated tools as she crouches to pick them up before he can accidentally nick himself on a scalpel. (Now she has to boil some clean water and dip into her diminishing stash of bleach just to re-sanitize everything that fell on the floor! As if she didn’t have enough work to be getting on with already!) “Who is this man and what is he doing here?”

“Easy there, Doctor,” Gramps replies in a placating tone. He adjusts the pince-nez on the bridge of his nose as he slowly stands up and glances back at the stranger, dead to the world in the middle of a blood transfusion. “Don’t you worry ‘bout him; he’s just arrived in town—this one hasn’t been on Yharnam soil long enough to have taken on the scourge. But! I did check ‘im out anyway,” the old man quickly clarifies before Thetis can call out his apparent negligence. “Clean bill of health—save for some hunger and fatigue from the road, this one’s fit as a fiddle!”

“Then why are you administering blood?” asks the doctor, professional curiosity piqued now that her fears have been eased somewhat. Most foreigners brave enough to travel to Yharnam come for the blood miracles of the Healing Church to cure whatever untreatable ailment had befallen them. The doctor takes a closer look at the traveler. He’s still relatively young and fit (and quite handsome, if she will allow herself a rare moment of honesty), if a little pale (but that seems to be the most common reaction from outsiders towards Yharnam blood ministration. To a born and bred Yharnamite, fear of needles themselves is a ludicrous concept. The real fear should be placed upon the hand holding the needle). So then why has he traveled all this way?

“Ah, well, he told me that he was looking for Paleblood in order to cure his nephew…” Doctor Thetis has never seen Gramps squirm so much, his head tipped down as if he’s trying to disappear under his green wide-brimmed hat. She can even see some red creeping up his face underneath his white bushy beard as he tries not to meet her eyes, even through the curtain of long hair that almost covers his face. “...and this being the night of the hunt an’ all, I thought to myself “Two birds with one stone”, you know? I’d get both of my professional obligations out of the way before the sun sets. They say outsiders make the best dreamers after all. That Aranella certainly did well for herself…”

Thetis freezes on the spot, as if a large chunk of ice had formed in her stomach at these words. In this moment, the doctor is made all too aware just how little she knows about the stranger she shares this clinic with. How in the world does a frail old man like Gramps know someone as dangerous as the Crow? What’s this other “professional obligation” that the old man has failed to ever mention before? Was she wrong to assume he couldn’t have any ties to Broadleaf or the Choir? But how else would he know about the dreams and Paleblood? “What in Kosm’s name are you talking about?” she can’t help but hiss at him.

For his part, Gramps seems perturbed by her reaction and steps back a few paces. “Er, never you mind, that’s jus’, uh, old hunter talk—you wouldn’t be interested, Doctor,” he babbles, waving his hands frantically in his rising panic. “You don’t need to worry about this one, he should come around just before sundown. Just leave the door open and he’ll let himself out; he seemed like a bright lad, he’ll pick up the basics of hunting soon enough!”

“Do you mean to tell me that you plan to send this man out there among the beasts with nothing but the clothes on his back?” Thetis asks incredulously. “Did—did you even tell him that the hunt is on tonight? ...did you even tell him what the hunt _is_!?”

“Don’t worry, Doctor, I said I took care of it! I’ve done this loads of times before; most hunters are quick to find their feet after the first couple of tries. As long as _that_ takes, he’ll be fine out there—the Hunter’s Dream will keep him alive for the rest of the night….probably.” Gramps gestures to the innocuous bag of blood hanging over the unconscious man, and Thetis is even more curious as to its properties. The scholars of Mensis spent _years_ learning how to transpose humans into the ethereal realm of dreams; how does this decrepit old man have access to such highly specialized blood? Surely the Healing Church could not have developed some on their own…

“If you’re worried about the rest of the patients, just lock the door once he leaves!” Gramps continues. “Otherwise, don’t fret ma’am! Odds are neither of us will ever see him again after tonight anyway.”

The doctor takes a moment to calm her heart and steel her nerves before formulating a response. “Did you at least get the poor man’s name before you… marked him for the hunt?” Thetis asks, hoping the confusion injected into her voice sounds more like it comes from a place of frightened ignorance than knowing dread.

“Oh absolutely, I’ve got his contract right here in fact!” The doctor can only stare blankly as the old man pulls out a sheet of paper from one of the numerous pockets in his billowing coat. Contract? What? None of the branches of the Healing Church ask for such a thing…not to her knowledge anyway...

“Er...Roland Crane is his name.” Gramps lets out an awkward cough as the contract disappears again into the depths of the coat and yet the judgemental look does not disappear from the doctor’s face. “Look, I’m really sorry for not telling you in advance Doctor, but where else was I supposed to bring him? The transfusion takes a while and you know it isn’t safe out on the streets, even in the daytime!”

When his pleading, apologetic tone fails to move the doctor, the old man craftily switches tactics. “Should I have brought him to young Master Thaumas instead?”

At the mere mention of that untalented _hack_ of Cathedral Ward who so arrogantly calls himself a “healer” while coasting on nothing but his good looks, Doctor Thetis can almost feel her own blood pressure rising. “No, it’s fine,” she mutters through gritted teeth, with a seething contempt she does not even have to fake. “I will keep an eye on him until sundown, but any longer and I’m afraid I will have to insist he be moved.”

“Don’t worry, ma’am, it won’t come to that! Right then, glad that’s settled! You’re the doctor and you know best, so I’ll go and check up on the patients one last time then turn in for the night, shall I? You know an old codger like myself can’t stay up the whole night anymore like you young folks!” The doctor has never seen Gramps move so quickly as he shuffles out of the room before she can get another word out.

With a weary sigh, Thetis turns her attention back towards the unfortunate Mister Crane, still in a deep sleep aside from the occasional twitch and hitch of breath from whatever bad dreams are running through his head as a result of the transfusion. She’s never paid much attention to the hunters (as the Unseen Village of Broadleaf no longer had any—well, none that hunted beasts anyhow), but she knew about the Hunter’s Dream that all of them eventually made their way to at some point. After all, it had been the basis of the Head Scholar’s huge pet project, which was just exiting the final planning phase when she had left.

Still, for Gramps to have access to such a rare and well-guarded resource was… most concerning for her patients and herself. Making a note to come back and give the outsider a proper once over once he wakes up, she turns to exit the sickroom and make her own habitual rounds when the door to the hallway opens once again.

“Just one more thing and I’ll be out of your hair for the rest of the evening, Doctor!” Gramps calls, poking his head in somewhat sheepishly. “Once our lad here takes off, you're not letting anyone in those doors, right? Because, uh, tonight’s not just any old full moon. Some call it a harvest moon and some call it a blood moon, but either way it tends to bring out vile creatures that are even worse than the usual beasts….”

“Gramps, you know I’m not some wide-eyed young student; I _know_ how to protect my patients and myself during the hunt, thank you very much!” Doctor Thetis snaps back, pride stung by the notion of her acting so rashly and recklessly, but not so much that she doesn’t pay attention to that last part, murmured so quietly that it was barely audible.

“I know, Doctor, I know—just, ah, just a little reminder! A blood moon isn’t something to be taken lightly.” Perhaps Gramps somehow has not discovered Thetis’s former allegiances if he’s still treating her like a normal civilian of Yharnam. Or maybe he’s just better at acting that he seems.

“Cor, my aching joints!” The old man whines. “If I live a few more years, I’m going to need a wheelchair when these blasted legs of mine give out…” As he walks away, still muttering to himself, Doctor Thetis makes a mental note to herself to wrench a proper explanation from the old man once the sun rises, even if it means breaking an oath or two to do so. One former agent of an organization once affiliated with the Healing Church is enough of a danger to this clinic.

* * *

Despite Gramps’s assurances that his “patient” will be fine, Doctor Thetis still peers into the sickroom to check up on Mister Crane more times than strictly necessary. The old man seems to have made good on his word and disappeared for the night, so she takes it upon herself to bandage the unlucky foreigner’s arm once the transfusion is complete, checking his pulse and temperature as she does so to ease her own concerns and curiosity. He’s mildly feverish and shivers occasionally, a sign of his body attempting to fight off the intrusion of foreign blood into his veins, a common side effect for outsiders. Otherwise he seems unchanged by the process.

But Thetis knows the effects of the Yharnam blood that now flows through his veins all too well. Even if he is successful in his search and returns home, Roland Crane won’t be the same person he was when he left in either body or mind, certainly not after the night of the hunt. She absentmindedly brushes away a stray strand of hair from his face.

Not for the first time, she wonders how the scholars she left behind in the School of Mensis are doing. Have they advanced their research into the exact process of how hunters are ensnared into specific dreams? One would think that if anyone had developed blood that allowed one’s consciousness to be directly transported to a specific location within the dreamlands, it would have been them… She would love to study the effect of this variety of blood on the foreigner’s body, especially if it changed anything in his brain once the dream took hold of him.

However, that would involve cutting into the patient’s brain and then draining his body of all blood, and Doctor Thetis didn’t do _that_. Not anymore.

If only the old man had told her exactly what the effects of the blood he’d ministered were supposed to be. Then she might have a clue what to look out for as she watches over the unconscious soon-to-be hunter. In another life, she would have someone else performing this task instead, standing much further away from the test subject and doing nothing but observing even as the subject screamed and strained against the restraints as the foreign blood actively attacked their bodies from within. Thetis was only ever interested in the raw data rather than the people on their table, forcibly plucked from the streets and spirited away to the Unseen Village. At the time, she claimed that she simply couldn’t stand the mess. It took years for her to realize that it was her guilt that made her sick to her stomach whenever she was in the room.

The doctor lets out a tiny sigh. She really thought she could somehow escape the trappings of her old life, didn’t she? Just take her vast knowledge and enormous guilt and turn her skillset into an altruistic way of life without attracting the attention of her former cohort and their rivals? Even if Gramps has nothing but pure intentions, there will still be others coming after her for what she knows about blood and the forbidden knowledge that the School of Mensis has worked for so long to keep under wraps.

Perhaps it is time for her to leave Yharnam. To just pack up everything and run. Don’t look back on the sordid past, start anew somewhere else...

Lost in thought, Thetis’s hand slips down and brushes against the outsider’s cheek. Still hot from the effects of the transfusion, he moves instinctively towards her cold hand. The doctor lets out an undignified noise, then feels her own face burn with embarrassment and shame. Here she is, a grown woman, blushing like a schoolgirl at a stranger’s touch because she’s been deprived of meaningful human contact outside of her medical duties for so long.

Damn her caring heart. She would never be able to forgive herself if she were to leave Yharnam without at least trying to repair some of the damage that her actions and prior apathy have caused to the people of this city. Perhaps if she can save at least some of the last uninfected humans, abandoned by the institutions that were meant to help them…

...maybe she can recover some of her own lost humanity.

As the howls of the beasts outside begin to fill the air, Doctor Thetis tears herself away to make one last check of the clinic and her other patients. But when she returns, the hunter has disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism is appreciated!
> 
> Triggers/Warnings: Mention of blood, Mentions of medical procedures/needles, Mentions of unethical scientific procedures/dismemberment, Mentions of deadly plagues, (Fantasy) Religious references, Loredumping


	6. The Doctor Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 24 - Memory Loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [thegaywhumpvampire](https://thegaywhumpvampire.tumblr.com/)/ [ineptdetective](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineptdetective/) and [sunflowersandink](https://sunflowersandink.tumblr.com/) / [SilverSkiesAtMidnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverSkiesAtMidnight/pseuds/SilverSkiesAtMidnight) for beta reading!

After she returns to find an empty sickroom, Doctor Thetis dutifully locks the open door to the clinic in the hunter’s wake before resuming her nightly routine. Perhaps Gramps is right about neither of them ever seeing this outsider again; hunters in Yharnam come and go like autumn leaves on the breeze. Those who gain infamy among the populace are the ones who can survive consecutive nights of the hunt, the reputations they gain bringing fear and distrust rather than any sort of glamorous renown.

So, not even half an hour later, it comes as a shock to hear knocking on that very same door. Judging by the warm orange glow pouring in from the windows high above, the sun hasn’t fully set yet. As she approaches cautiously, the person on the other side knocks again—insistent yet polite, rather than the pounding of fists or claws on the door with wild abandon. Her visitor might yet have their sanity intact, but unfortunately the doctor’s answer must remain the same.

“Hello? Are you… out on the hunt?” she calls out. “I am sorry, but... I cannot open this door for any reason. The patients here in my clinic must not be exposed to infection. Please try to understand my position here.”

There is no response from the person on the other side, but Thetis doesn’t hear the sound of footsteps descending the staircase either. The oak doors are much sturdier than they look, but a few of the panes of frosted glass have large cracks in them. She carefully peers through one of them and is shocked to see a familiar silver-buttoned waistcoat, a bit more blood-stained than previously but still unmistakably out of place amongst the fashions of Yharnam. “Mister Crane? What...what are you doing back here?”

The hunter seems startled at the sound of his own name. “'Back here?'” he repeats. “Wha—? I’m sorry, who are you and how do you know my name?”

Ah, of course, it isn’t as if they’d been properly introduced… “I am Doctor Thetis, the owner of this clinic. You were brought here after your procedure by an associate of mine, but I’m afraid I cannot let you back in because I do not know the effects of the blood he has given you. Furthermore, since you’ve gone out into the streets, I cannot risk the chance of compromising the sanitation of this clinic. Many of the patients here are already weak from illness, and thus more susceptible to the scourge should they be exposed. I apologize for any mistreatment you may have experienced on the part of my colleague, but I cannot grant you sanctuary here.”

There is a long silence from the other side. “…I’m sorry, can we start over? What procedure? Why was I brought here and why can’t I remember it happening? Is the “scourge” you are referring to the affliction upon the madmen and beasts roaming around outside?”

“Do you truly not remember anything?” Was this amnesia a side effect of the strange blood? Doctor Thetis wishes that she had a notepad and writing implement within reach. “The scourge of the beast is the sickness that has addled the minds of many within Yharnam, transforming them into the feral creatures outside. Were you not informed of this by the old man before you agreed to undertake the blood transfusion?” At this point, Thetis is hoping for confirmation that Gramps acquired consent for the procedure rather than tricking the poor man into becoming an unexpected blood recipient.

“No? Wait, or did—? I-I’m not sure.” His voice sounds strained.

“Very well, so what _can_ you remember?” Thetis tells herself that she’s only asking out of concern for the outsider and not to satiate her curiosity, but in her heart she knows this is a lie. Was this memory loss an accident, or an intended effect of the blood? Removal of any knowledge of the outside world would make the recipient less keen on leaving the city, even with the hunt on...

“Well, I remember my name, that’s a start at least, right?” the hunter begins with a half-hearted chuckle. “I’m from… from… shit, I can’t…” Through the frosted glass, Thetis sees his silhouette go completely still, arms crossed and head bowed slightly in concentration. A quiet panic builds up in his voice as he continues sifting through fragments of memory. “I can’t remember. It’s as if my memories have been erased... and the few that remain are slipping away like water in a sieve… Is this because of the blood transfusion?”

“I’m not sure,” Thetis replies softly, unconsciously clasping her hands together as she feels a rare pang of sympathy. The feeling settles like a heavy stone pressing against her chest; no wonder she’d tried to suppress such emotions in the name of objectiveness and scientific progress in the past. The doctor maintains her veneer of professionalism like a sturdy shield, that much has not changed. “Let’s try to focus on what you can recall for now,” she suggests.

“Alright.” The hunter takes a deep, shaky breath. “I do recall that I came to Yharnam seeking a cure for an untreatable illness. Not for my own sake, but for someone very close to me… a family member, I think…?”

“Gramps said you mentioned something about your nephew?” Thetis gently prompts him after another long pause.

“Will!” The hunter gasps, moving back a step as if shocked by the memory returning. “Oh god, how could I forget? Yes—William, my nephew who’s been sick to the point that all of the doctors in… our country have basically given up on him. They said it was a miracle that he’s survived this long with such a weak constitution. Neither he nor his mother were predicted to survive the birth...”

He snaps his fingers rapidly, as if trying to summon the memories back to his brain with the repetitive noise. “So I traveled here as per the request of his mother, my... sister? Yes, Will is her only child, and even with her own poor health she would have made the trip herself if I had not volunteered to take her place. Which I did, of course, because... ermmm…”

“Because?” The memories that come back to the hunter are of close family and an important pursuit for the sake of others. But basic information about himself such as country of origin is not so easily recalled? Or is he choosing to keep that information from her?

“Never mind, it’s not important right now.” The slight hitch in his voice indicates that whatever memory had come back to the hunter was most likely not a pleasant one. “Anyway, I came here to look for Paleblood, which is supposed to be a panacea that can only be found in Yharnam, or so the rumors go. After my arrival, I remember talking to an old man with shaggy white hair all over his face, a green hat, and pince-nez. He told me that if I wanted to survive the night in Yharnam and find Paleblood, I would need something that could only be obtained with the aid of Yharnamite blood. Then he had me sign a piece of paper… and all I can remember after that is waking up in that room.”

He trails off as if embarrassed, but Thetis’s mind is elsewhere. Putting aside Gramps’s mysterious agenda for the moment, how could anyone outside of Yharnam have ever heard of Paleblood? The Healing Church, the School of Mensis, and the Choir had worked tirelessly to keep Master Leonhard’s final discovery a secret—not out of mutual respect, but in order to keep the focus of their individual research efforts a secret from the general population of Yharnam and each other. Thetis herself had only learned about the mysterious substance from an old missive written by the first Vicar of the Church himself, tucked away in a forgotten corner of the School and which only named the substance, without any explanation as to what it might be. But if what she could extrapolate from it is correct, Paleblood is not a panacea—at least not in the way that Roland probably thinks it is.

But she does not have the patience to explain the history of Yharnam and the century-long faction war among the upper echelons of the Church to the outsider at the moment. “How did you feel upon waking up?” she asks in a professional tone, the diligent healer side of herself overwhelming the curious researcher. “Feverish? Light-headed? Nauseous?”

“None of the above,” the hunter replies after another contemplative pause. “Aside from the amnesia, I felt perfectly normal…at least until I walked down the stairs and was immediately mauled to death by a huge wolf-like creature.” Though his voice shakes, he says this with a forced sarcasm rather than genuine blame. It’s as if he’s not so much shaken at his recollection of the incident as he is somehow peeved he wasn’t able to defeat a bloodthirsty beast barehanded. “I, uh, saw some parts of myself that I could’ve gone the rest of my life without seeing… my internal organs, for instance, being torn out of my body by a freakish hellbeast with huge jaws! I’m sure you’ve seen worse, doctor, but that’s not a memory that’ll be leaving my brain anytime soon!”

“I’m terribly sorry,” Thetis apologizes, and she sincerely means it. “The beasts can make their way into the ground floor very easily, so I usually move all of my patients up to the second floor and leave whatever wanders in alone as long as they stay away from the stairs. When you woke up, I was most likely at the other end of the clinic and couldn’t hear any cries for help.” Or perhaps the doctor had heard, but ignored the screams like she had to block out all the sounds of distress coming from outside as more people fell victim to the hunt. 

With some small satisfaction, the hunter adds, “Don’t worry, it’s dead. I made damn sure of it.” Through the crack in the glass, Thetis can see him holding up a bloodied saw cleaver, still dripping with fresh viscera, for emphasis.

“But you’re… alright now?” she asks hesitantly, regretting the words as soon as they leave her lips. Of course the hunter isn’t _alright_ ; what sane person would be after having their insides torn out and eaten in front of them by a monster?

“Heh, all things considered, I am doing rather well for a man who ought to be dead several times over. When I felt the beast’s claws tearing through my ribcage and my vision started to fade, from both blood loss and shock most likely, I thought it was the end for me.” Through the frosted glass, Thetis can see the hunter’s silhouette barely suppress a shudder. “If only I could’ve forgotten _that_ memory instead.”

“But then, I… woke up, alive and uninjured somehow, in this strange ethereal place. It was as if a piece of the world had been taken out of the earth and then set adrift in an endless sea of fog, dotted with strange stone pillars off in the distance. Only a few lanterns and the light of the moon illuminated the cobblestone path lined with trees and tall gravestones that ran through the area. At one end was a locked gate with a field of flowers past it. At the other, there was a building with tall windows and three locked doors. There was nothing around but an abandoned doll about the size of a child and these...odd creatures that looked like tiny, shriveled up humanoids. They gave me some weapons before transporting me back here, as if by magic. That place was nothing like I’ve ever seen, it was almost…”

“...dreamlike?” Thetis offers. “I may not know that much about the ways of the hunters, but I know of the Hunter’s Dream. It’s a space untouched by time created by the very first hunter so that the new hunters can learn the old ways and the hunt will live on, no matter what fate may befall Yharnam. All hunters are called into the Dream at some point, though I don’t know how much of that is true and how much is folklore.” Though recent events seemed to prove her wrong, as she never had heard of hunters being sent to the Dream via blood ministration...

“So that place is a… dream where hunters go when they die?” Another pensive silence follows. “I know you can’t let me in, but...do you mind if I just… rest out here for a while? This is… this is all a lot to take in.”

“Oh, of course.” Thetis sees the door shake a little as the hunter leans against it and slides to the floor with a loud, exhausted thump. As she cannot put her hand on his shoulder, she instead rests it upon the doorframe as if she could transfer her reassuring touch through the thick oak. “I know this all seems horrible and confusing, but try to look at the positives. From what I understand, the selection process for which hunters are pulled into the Dream is random. Had you not been chosen, you would not be here right now and your family might never have learned what became of you after your departure. Now you have a better chance of surviving the night and finding this Paleblood for your nephew.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Thetis hears a resigned sigh from the other side of the door. “Oh, speaking of which, there was a note on the chair in the room where I woke up, informing me to “Seek Paleblood to transcend the hunt”. I presume that wasn’t your doing?”

“No, I didn’t leave any note. I was actually hoping to catch you awake before you left the clinic...” As the guilt rears its ugly head once again, Thetis spots the offending scrap of paper behind her and sees the barely legible scrawl of Gramps’s hand upon it. “As I thought,” she mutters with a sigh of her own. “Believe me, Mister Crane, I have many questions for the old man as well. But he’s already barricaded himself in his room in anticipation of the hunt. Neither of us will be getting any answers out of him tonight.”

“How convenient for him,” the hunter remarks dryly. Then, as if struck by a flash of inspiration, “I don’t suppose you know anything about Paleblood, Doctor?”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Thetis lies. “There are many kinds of blood in Yharnam. I don’t think even the head researchers of the Healing Church know every single variety of blood there is.” She certainly didn’t, as the events of the late afternoon had already proved.

“I see…” The hunter goes silent again, lost in thought. “There’s a man on his deathbed named Tiller a few houses up the road. Aside from you, he’s the only person I’ve met in Yharnam so far who can still hold a rational conversation. He’s from out of town as well, but he suggested that I go to the Grand Cathedral in the town across the valley, which is ‘the birthplace of the Healing Church's special blood’. Does that seem like sound advice to you?”

Perhaps this Tiller is speaking from well-intentioned ignorance, but Thetis knows that this too is a lie. The birthplace of the blood that began the work of the Healing Church is in fact miles beneath the city, in the labyrinths left behind by an ancient civilization that had touched the veil between lowly humanity and godhood, only to bury all of their wisdom deep beneath the earth and vanish from the annals of history without a trace.

“That might be so,” she says instead, “but the Healing Church is not the mighty institution that it once was. The endless hunts have sapped the Church of the resources and manpower it once had; despite sequestering themselves off from the rest of Yharnam, they are fighting a losing battle against time and the scourge all the same. I’ve distanced myself from the Church to maintain this clinic, so I cannot tell you the exact state of Cathedral Ward right now, but I imagine that they’re fairing about as well as the people here—poorly.”

“Still,” she quickly adds as not to discourage him, “that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a chance that someone among the remaining survivors may have some information on Paleblood.” It’s not a complete lie; once again, for all Thetis knows there could yet be someone in Cathedral Ward who knows about the dreamlands and the history of the Healing Church hunters. “Here.” She pulls out a vial of clear, yellowish liquid from the innermost pocket of her white robe and slips it through the largest crack in the glass. “I know it’s not much, but this is all that I can do to help.”

“Huh? What’s this?” asks the hunter as he gently takes the tiny glass container from her.

“This is some of my own blood,” Thetis explains, and she wishes that there wasn’t a locked door between them so that she could see the hunter’s face as he makes an alarmed noise and shuffles back. “I’ve carefully refined it to maximum potency myself, so it should be just as invigorating and restorative as some of the best blood the Healing Church has to offer!” She declares this with considerable pride at her handiwork, only realizing later how odd it must have sounded to the outsider.

“...Thanks? But, why is it yel—you know what, never mind.” The hunter doesn’t sound too enthusiastic, but as he stands up to leave he doesn’t try to return the vial either.

“Now, go. And good hunting.” Doctor Thetis waits for the sound of his footsteps to recede down the stairs before she resumes her customary rounds. As with all of those whom she must turn away, she wishes that she could do more for him. But what good is a doctor on the night of the hunt?

* * *

It seems like ages before the hunter returns, though the sun that refuses to set outside indicates that it hasn’t been quite as long. Though she usually does not stay on this side of the clinic for too long, Thetis is already rushing to the door as she hears the creaking of heavy boots on the staircase, arriving before the hunter can even knock. “Ah, you are safe, thank goodness. How goes the hunt?”

“Well, I’m getting the hang of things now, though the rest of the city hasn’t been making it easy,” the hunter admits. Through the cracks in the glass, Thetis can see that he’s exchanged his native garb for something more suitable for the hunt (she sincerely hopes that the Yharnamite garments he’s wearing were cleaned first…).

“Have more of your memories returned yet?” she asks the hunter. “You seem to have taken to hunting very quickly; perhaps you were someone in the military service at one point?” Or much more likely he could have been a fighter of less honorable repute. Either way, Thetis suspects a history of violence from the way he’s either quickly processed or repressed the memories of a traumatic experience to get back out into the streets in pursuit of his mission.

On the other side of the door, the hunter replies with a half-hearted shrug. “That could be the case, but I don’t know. Nothing seems to be coming back to me, so I’ve just been focusing on getting through the rest of the night. Tiller pointed me towards an alternative route into Cathedral Ward through the Tomb of Oedon, but there’s another hunter in there who’s lost his mind to the scourge and he won’t let me pass. All of the other hunters I’ve encountered so far have been mindless brutes who were easy to deal with, but this man has much more skill and finesse. I’ve already died several times while trying to face him.”

He speaks of dying so casually now, a marked change from the last time he and Thetis spoke to one another. It might seem familiar to him but it deeply unnerves the doctor in a way that words cannot express. Perhaps it is due to her newfound conscience, but the way that the hunt itself strips the hunters of their own humanity sends shivers up her spine. It’s as if the act of hunting beasts itself drives them to become more animalistic. That was one of the reasons she chose to distance herself from the hunters in the first place. 

“Anyway,” the hunter continues almost sheepishly, “I was wondering if you had any more of those special blood vials of yours to spare? I was trying not to use it, but I panicked mid-fight. You weren’t kidding about its potency compared to the other blood I’ve used; it almost carried me to victory the last time I tried to fight that hunter.”

“It’s no trouble,” Thetis assures him as she fishes another vial out of her pocket. “I'll do what I can, of course. I am just glad that you haven’t fallen into despair in the face of adversity like so many of your compatriots. The night is long, but morning always comes. Someone of your caliber won’t fail, I am certain. And once the night ends, we can speak face-to-face.” She places a hand on the doorframe and briefly allows herself to entertain the fleeting fancy of him mirroring the gesture on the other side.

“Then I can finally see what you look like,” the hunter replies, and Thetis is glad that he cannot see her blushing through the frosted glass.

“I shouldn’t be thinking this,” Thetis says, hoping that her embarrassment isn’t evident in her voice, “but I am rather looking forward to it. So please, be careful out there, Roland.” Perhaps it is only her imagination, but it feels like he lingers for a second too long in between thanking her and going about his way once again.

And with that, Doctor Thetis is alone once again with the exception of the strange old vagabond upstairs and her sleeping patients in the other wing of the clinic. All the doors and windows are locked, all possible points of entry have been accounted for. Tonight’s vigil will be even more lonesome now that she’ll have some company to miss, but at least everyone here will be safe.

Or so she believes anyway.

“Nice place you got here, Doctor,” remarks an unfamiliar voice behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism is appreciated!
> 
> Triggers/Warnings: Mentioned Explicit Gore (gonna earn that M rating in this chapter!), Mention of blood, Mentions of medical procedures/needles, Mentions of unethical scientific procedures/dismemberment, Mentions of deadly plagues, (Fantasy) Religious references


	7. The Old Woman Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Alt. 2 - “I can’t lose you too”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [thegaywhumpvampire](https://thegaywhumpvampire.tumblr.com/)/ [ineptdetective](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineptdetective/) and [sunflowersandink](https://sunflowersandink.tumblr.com/) / [SilverSkiesAtMidnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverSkiesAtMidnight/pseuds/SilverSkiesAtMidnight) for beta reading!

The Chapel of Oedon may be a safe haven from the horrific carnage outside, but the nearly empty building provides little in the way of entertainment for its current occupants. And Tani seems to have decided to make her boredom into Martha’s problem.

As soon as the newcomers have settled in, Martha asks their mysterious host if he is _absolutely certain_ that they are the only living souls left in this chapel. Roland might’ve thought that this place was safe, but he isn’t here anymore, and her suspicions over this strange-looking old man with an accent that is distinctly not-Yharnamite have only grown stronger. Why is Niall here all by himself? Why haven’t other inhabitants of Cathedral Ward sought sanctuary here when this chapel has such a massive stockpile of incense? Has Oedon (whoever he may be) fallen out of favor with his old worshipers somehow, or is this all a setup to lure unsuspecting people into the chapel to be sacrificed or something? 

Unintimidated, Niall just shrugs off Martha’s accusations and admits that the building was already empty when he arrived, desperately seeking any means of shelter after realizing that tonight was the night of the hunt. After searching the main floor and the basement for any signs of life, he’d concluded that the followers of Oedon must have gone mad from the scourge and simply abandoned the place. He lit the massive pots of incense and left the doors open in case any survivors wandered by, but no one had shown up until Roland arrived. Once the screaming and snarling filled the air outside, Niall had decided that he’d rather face anything that might still lurk in the chapel over the beasts that _definitely_ were prowling around outside.

This explanation does absolutely nothing to quell Martha and Tani’s worries. So the young lady decides to take her weapons and explore every inch of the chapel, just in case Niall missed something or someone lurking in the shadows, waiting for them to drop their guard before attacking. Martha of course wants to make Tani stay put where she can be seen (and not mysteriously vanish, like so many other orphans of the hunt had over the years), but in the end she has no authority over the girl. So she bites her tongue and makes Tani promise to stay within the chapel walls before she heads back down into the decrepit library they passed earlier while entering from the Tomb below.

However, as soon as Tani heads down the stairs and out of sight, Martha quietly sends the higgledies after her to make sure she doesn't get into any trouble. “Higgle-piggle!” They sing together in a voice deeper than the lowest notes of a double bass before sinking into the floor and disappearing back into the dreaming world.

“Crivens,” Niall mutters as the pale violet light of the lantern in the center of the room fades with the departure of the little creatures. It had taken much longer for Martha to coax the strange old man over to make contact with the higgledies. He finally relented after sullenly watching Tani and Martha giggle at thin air for several minutes, no longer able to stand being left out of the conversation. “An’ these wee little buggers have always been here, jus’ outta sight this whole time?”

“Oh no, the higgledies can only manifest in the waking world during the night of the hunt,” Martha explains as she leans back in the chair that Tani had brought up earlier from the untidy basement. “They’re born from the Dream for the purpose of aiding hunters, so they’re only able to cross over while a hunter—someone from our world—has been chosen by the Dream to fulfill a specific task.”

Niall nods along, but Martha can tell by the baffled look on his face that he doesn’t get it. This is to be expected; the experience of being chosen as a dreamer is hard to explain to those who haven’t gained the insight of living through a night of the hunt while connected to the eldritch location. She wouldn’t have believed it herself had it not happened to her nearly a lifetime ago...

* * *

Martha had been not much older than Tani when the Hunter’s Dream saved her from certain death on that fateful night of the hunt with the harvest moon rising in the east. She had dismissed the strange rumors from older hunters as tall tales until she became one of the chosen ones to visit the obscure locale. Under the power of the Dream, Martha had been granted one hunt in which she could not die and her debt was repaid by doing what the old man in the wheelchair had requested.

She could not remember what this request was. Perhaps that was the point.

When the night ends, and their connection to the Dream is severed, the dreamers are not supposed to recall their experiences. The luckiest hunters keep a few vague slivers of memories that they can look back on in bewilderment. Martha may have been just like the rest had she not been so fascinated by the ugly little messengers that clustered together in the empty birdbaths and followed her around eagerly in the waking world. The Doll remarked that she had never seen anyone else besides her give the higgledies so much attention and love. Most of the other hunters seemed indifferent towards them, or were even hostile in some cases.

“I am a mere doll only passing familiar with human emotions, and sincerely apologize if my words do offend you. But… I believe that you are the only hunter to show the little ones so much kindness because you yourself know how it feels to be ignored and thrown away,” the Doll had observed. Martha does not remember what her response to this was, but she still remembers her anger at these words because of the visage that the Doll had worn as she said this.

Or rather, the attempted imitation of a familiar face that fell flat because the long hair was too red and the eyes weren’t the right shade of green. Yet despite the obvious flaws, Martha could easily tell that the Doll had been fashioned in an attempt at a facsimile of Marian—as her twin sister’s face had been a perfect copy of her own.

* * *

Speaking of the little ones, the lantern in the middle of the room flickers back to life as the higgledies return with a chorus of demonic giggles and Tani emerges from the basement seconds later with a disappointed frown.

“Well, that was a load of rubbish,” she announces with a huff as she sits down cross-legged next to the lantern. “There’s an absolute mountain of books down there, but I can’t read a single one! Most of them are in languages that I’ve never even _seen_ before. And that’s just the books that are still readable, about half of them are too soaked for me to pry the pages apart! The few books that are in our language have been scribbled over with complete _nonsense_ about ‘old blood’ and ‘eyes on the inside’. Just about the only thing I could read down there was a note on the table about ‘the Byrgenwerth reptile’ and the writer whining about a headache! I think Niall’s right: whoever was here before us _clearly_ went mad somehow.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Martha spots Niall twitch at the mention of Byrgenwerth. This is the most unease she’s seen from him since they arrived in the chapel; could that be the name of whatever place he’s originally from? But come to think of it, this name seems oddly familiar to her as well, so it can’t be that foreign... where has she heard it before? “Well now, as long as they went mad somewhere else, I take it that you’ve concluded that Oedon Chapel is secure?”

“Almost, there’s just one last place I need to check.” Tani turns her head towards the soundly locked door at the far end of the room. According to Niall, it was the only door that was sealed shut when he arrived and no amount of searching the building had turned up the key. Martha assumes that it must be access to the top floor and the balcony high above that overlooks the main chapel. Although it would bring her some much-needed peace of mind to know that nothing can crawl up there and drop on their heads at any time, Martha doesn’t anticipate that they’ll be able to get past that door without a key…

...at least until Tani fishes through her things and pulls out a beaten up leather pouch. “And just so you know, I’m not a thief and neither was my father, okay?” she suddenly announces to the room at large. The young woman tries to put on an air of gruffness (which doesn’t quite work with her small stature) but Martha is close enough to see her biting her lip nervously. “He only taught me how to pick locks because he always said that a locked door could be the difference between safety and becoming a beast’s next meal. So… so keep your judgements to yourself!”

“Feh! We weren’t gonna judge ya, lassie!” Niall assures her. “All of us have had ta do things we weren’t proud of to survive this long in this wretched city! ‘sides, the ol’ Healin’ Church’s got bigger problems ta be dealin’ wit’ than a lockpicker and a couple of trespassers, aye?”

Martha scoffs approvingly. She has no moral qualms about the Healing Church finally getting their just desserts for what they’ve done to the people of this city, her family especially. If a Church official wants to give Tani some trouble for opening a door, well, she’s got an earful for _them_ regarding the numerous crimes that the Church has committed over the course of her lifetime! Tani gives them both a small smile of gratitude before getting to work.

The lantern flickers for a moment and the higgledies whisper amongst themselves before the closest one to Martha gurgles out an update on the progress of the current hunter of the Dream. “Ah, he’s found his way into Old Yharnam then, has he?” she mutters, long buried and conflicting feelings coming back to the surface as she thinks about her old home in the condemned valley below. “Well, he ain’t gonna find much down there… Keep an eye on him for me, won’t you dearies?”

“Hig-pig!” Their ominous chirps echo through the chapel as they dematerialize once again into the world of the Dream.

* * *

When the morning had finally broken after her hunt under the blood moon that seemed to drag on forever, Martha forgot everything that had come to pass that night… except for the mournful part of her that deeply missed all the lovely little friends that she had met.

Ever since Martha’s entire family perished one by one during one of the many resurgences of the ashen blood plague in Old Yharnam, she’d always been alone. Yharnamites didn’t like outsiders by nature, so Martha had trouble finding anyone who would stick their neck out for a red-headed orphan like herself even though she’d lived there for her entire life. The superstitious townsfolk feared that the child who had somehow survived a deadly outbreak would bring them bad luck, or perhaps infect them with ashen blood somehow.

That friendship she’d made with the higgledies—the first beings she’d gotten close to after the deaths of her family—lingered in Martha’s heart even as the memories faded from her mind. She set out to learn as much about the Hunter’s Dream as she could, hoping to reclaim what she had lost.

Talking to the few living hunters who still remembered bits and pieces of their time within the Dream had helped to jog some of Martha’s lost memories, though few of them seemed to remember the little creatures that lit the lanterns and ferried messages to other hunters. The most common shared memory between the former dreamers seemed to be of the Doll’s parting words, though Martha noticed a strange discrepancy in their individual recollections. (Martha had also tried to badger some of the Healing Church officials for answers, but she was swifty removed from their offices. Unhelpful gits, but what else was new?)

On the next night of the hunt one year later, Martha had gotten her hands on as much incense as she could afford and sat on the stoop of her house with her threaded cane in her lap. As the beasts roamed through Yharnam and the other hunters chased them down, she sat there and waited for something, though she wasn’t sure what. Suddenly, she felt tiny fingers tapping against her hand and looked down to see her little lovelies! The higgledies had also missed her, so much so that they sought her out even after her tenure in the Dream had ended, something they had never done for any of the other former dreamers. They continued to seek her out every night of the hunt, even when she’d stopped hunting completely in order to start a family of her own.

* * *

“Ow!”

Martha is jolted out of her trip down memory lane as Tani yelps in pain. The girl has been working at the lock on the ornate door for some time now, with all of her lockpicking tools laid out in a semicircle around her as she swaps in between various pieces trying to find the right ones. The metal rod she’s accidentally stabbed herself with clatters to the floor as Tani instinctively tries to stem the bleeding on her finger with her tongue.

“Oi, when was the last time you washed your hands? Get that out of your mouth!” Martha snaps at her, bones creaking as she stands up from her chair by the lantern and over to her supply cache in the corner. While rummaging through her bags for a plaster, one of her many bottles of special liquid medicine rolls out onto the floor, but Martha manages to pick it up and squirrel it away again before Tani or Niall can notice.

The numbing concoction has gotten her through more than a few rough nights after Alice’s passing, but she needs to be awake and alert in case something happens to the other survivors. Even so, there’s a constant itch in her brain that’s been bothering her since she got here, a vague feeling of unease that she knows she could easily drown out with a draft of sedative. But even taking a small sip would lead to some awkward questions from Niall and Tani if they saw the bottle…

“Um, Auntie Martha? Can I ask you a question?” Tani asks as she wraps up the cut on her finger. It’s barely a nick, but even the tiniest drop of blood can get the attention of beasts should they sniff it out. “How do you know so much about hunters? And why do you have one of their weapons?” She gestures to the threaded cane still resting against the chair Martha has just vacated.

Tani and Niall have been fishing for answers from her since they arrived in the chapel, but Martha refuses to bite. She’ll save her stories of the hunt for the person whom they would help the most. “Well dearie, my late daughter and son-in-law—bless their poor souls—were hunters.”

This wasn’t a lie at all. Her Carol had grown up wanting to be a hunter like most children in Yharnam, to her mother’s dismay. Martha had hoped that her stubborn daughter might give it up once she got married, but Lewis was unfortunately perfectly content to have his partner in matrimony also be his partner in hunting. But neither of them had been chosen by the Hunter’s Dream at all, to the best of Martha’s knowledge. If only at least one of them had been on that fateful night…

“Were they… Alice’s parents?” Tani asks with much more hesitation, and Martha can feel a tightness in her throat as she nods.

When Carol became pregnant, she and her mother had had many a row about her and her husband’s decision to keep hunting once their child was born. Martha had pointed out that _she_ had given up the profession once she realized she was pregnant, as no one would be able to take care of her child should something happen to her. Carol fired back that the hunt had only occurred once a year when her mother was still a hunter; now that it was a monthly occurrence, it would be irresponsible to the people of Yharnam for them to quit while the beast scourge was worsening. She and Lewis had a better support system in his side of the family, and maybe if her mother hadn’t been such a _prickly tramp_ then she wouldn’t have struggled so much as a single mother!

They didn’t speak to each other again after that until a whole year after Alice’s birth.

“Oh... I’m sorry. Can… can I ask one last question, if that’s alright with you?” Tani waits for another nod from Martha before pressing on. “Why didn’t Alice stay in school after she moved in with you? I remember you picking her up from school a couple of times, so you didn’t live too far away…” She pauses to take a deep breath and summon up the courage to continue. “I know I’m being selfish and you must have been so worried about her after what happened to her parents, but Alice was one of the only girls in school who would actually talk to me. No one else ever tried to reach out to me, they all had their established friend groups by the time my dad and I moved there. I never got to say goodbye and I...”

Tani has to stop there to suppress a sniffle and Martha can’t help but make a sympathetic noise. She had always had a hard time making friends after the loss of her family as well, an issue that had plagued her well into adulthood and one that she couldn’t blame solely on the hostile culture of Yharnam. Even now, she has the tendency to push others away at the slightest provocation, sometimes without even meaning to. She had done it with Carol as she grew up and started to form better relationships with others, and then again with Alice in the few years she’d been under her care.

“You missed her, huh?” It’s Tani’s turn to get choked up and nod mutely. It’s taking all of Martha’s resolve not to go back to the bottle in her kit to wash away the memories that come flooding back. “Alice missed you too, she kept mentioning a friend from school when she begged me to let her go back. But I wasn’t going to lose her too, not with the beasts still out there and the hunters doing bugger all to stop them. Not to mention how many orphaned children in Yharnam have gone missing without a trace...”

Losing her family to ashen blood as a child had broken something in Martha that she could never rebuild, but at least she had some small amount of closure when the bodies of her parents were buried. Alice hadn’t been given this opportunity, as there hadn’t been enough of her mother or father left to bury even if burials had still been possible in Yharnam. For the first few months after moving in with her grandmother, Alice waited by the upstairs window with a candle every night, in the vain hope that everyone had been wrong about her parents’ demise and they’d come back for her and everything would go back to normal. She’d kept this up until the scourge made her too sick to stand anymore.

Martha lets out a tired sigh, exhausted emotionally as part of her wishes that she could’ve just stayed at home where she doesn’t have to face the scrutiny of her late granddaughter's friend. “I thought that by keeping her at home, I could protect her. But I was too blind to see the scourge beginning to turn her until it was too late.” The former hunter had not touched her old trick weapon in years aside from oiling it out of a sense of habit rather than practicality. To think that she would have to pick it up one more time in order to defend herself from her only remaining flesh and blood, turned into a mindless animal…

Tani’s eyes widen in shock as she processes the implications of this, and turns back to her self-appointed task in awkward silence. Martha has to fight the urge to hobble back over to her stash of sedatives (maybe she could sneak one bottle under her skirts, just one, so Tani and Niall wouldn’t be any the wiser) until the loud click of machinery indicates that Tani has finally gotten the better of the locked door. Niall also shuffles over as the ornate heavy door swings open to let a blast of cold air in.

“So, this must lead outside then,” Tani muses as she exchanges her lockpicks for her saw spear and steps across the threshold without hesitation. With much more caution, Martha and Niall follow her to an old elevator just around the corner, with the faint smell of ash and soot that is Yharnam city air wafting down from the top of the shaft. Tani’s already messing with the machinery and Martha feels a spike of anxiety in the pit of her stomach as the girl finds the button to raise the platform and prepares to stomp on it.

“Oh, I don’t like the look of this,” Martha warns her. “I think we’d better wait until Roland gets back and make ‘im check it out first…oi, just where do you think you’re going, young lady!?”

But Tani isn’t one to wait. “I’m just going to take a quick peek, I’ll be right back!” Tani assures her and Niall as the elevator begins to rise before either of them can stop her. The two adults exchange nervous looks as the platform creaks to a stop above and they hear the faint thumps of Tani’s footsteps in the distance.

“It’s probably emptier up there than a—” Niall attempts to assure Martha before they hear the distant sound of a long barrage of gunfire and a scream from Tani. Martha dives at the hand crank at the bottom of the elevator shaft to recall the platform, but it won’t budge no matter how hard she yanks at it. While she struggles, Niall lets out something panicked and unintelligible as the elevator begins to descend slowly on its own. They brace for the sight of the young woman’s bloody corpse, riddled with bullets and reduced to shredded meat…

...but instead let out a collective sigh of relief to see Tani, alive and unharmed though shaking like a leaf, lying as flat as she can on the floor of the platform as it creaks to a stop. “T-there’s some crazy old codger in a wheelchair with a _minigun_ mounted on it!” she shrieks as Martha and Niall have to help her to her feet. “If I hadn’t peeked around the corner and just charged into the room, I’ve been mincemeat!”

“I told you not to go up there!” Martha snaps at her crossly, then pulls the shaking young woman into a bone-crushing hug. “We’ll have no more reckless stunts from you tonight! I can’t lose you too!”

Tani freezes in shock and it takes Martha a second to realize what she’s said as well. She’s trembling just as much as Tani had been, and she barely knows this child! Why is she suddenly—?

[ _Every — loses their child, and then yearns for a surrogate._ ]

Yes, that must be it. After a moment to compose herself, Martha gently peels herself away from Tani before herding her and Niall back into the main room. “As I was saying, child,” she huffs, trying to bring back her usual air of crankiness, “leave this for a proper hunter, yeah?” ' _Or at least one who won't die so easily._ '

"Alright," Tani concedes with a sigh, "I'll let Roland handle it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism is appreciated!
> 
> Triggers/Warnings: Past Character Death, Past Whump of a Minor, Emotional Whump, Mentions of deadly plagues, (Fantasy) Religious references, Implied (Fantasy) Substance Addiction, Mention of dead children, Parents as people, Messy family dynamics, Brief slut-shaming, Mild xenophobia


	8. The Old Woman Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: Day 15 - “Run. Don’t look back”  
> Day 22 - Burned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [thegaywhumpvampire](https://thegaywhumpvampire.tumblr.com/)/ [ineptdetective](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineptdetective/) and [sunflowersandink](https://sunflowersandink.tumblr.com/) / [SilverSkiesAtMidnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverSkiesAtMidnight/pseuds/SilverSkiesAtMidnight) for beta reading!

“Let me handle what?”

Martha can smell the ash on Roland’s clothing as he re-emerges from the Dream. It might seem as if he’s just dramatically stepped out of the shadows like a phantom thief in a penny dreadful, but the former hunter has the insight needed to see the pale aura around the outsider fade as the higgledies’ lantern flickers. Even after having crossed over through the Dream, the putrid stench of the blood and char of Old Yharnam still lingers about him. Perhaps the evidence of such a horrific massacre has left such a terrible stain that even the restorative properties of dreams cannot chase it away.

Or perhaps it’s only the new coat and boots that look (and smell) like they’ve just been pulled out of a furnace. Even though the leather is frayed and the buckles blackened with soot, Martha can still recognize the Church insignias on the articles of clothing. She makes a mental note to check her supplies when Roland leaves again; bloody kleptomaniac outsiders…

“Ah, I see you managed to get that door open,” the hunter remarks upon spotting Tani’s handiwork, ignoring Niall pulling his blanket over his nose in order to block out the odor as Roland passes by.

“Yeah, I picked the lock. You’re welcome, by the way,” Tani informs Roland with a self-satisfied smirk, then wrinkles her nose in disgust as he gets close. “Ergh, where’ve you been this whole time? You smell like you just walked out of a crematorium with a broken furnace!”

“I do?” Roland takes a cautious sniff of his new coat and then immediately recoils. “Urgh, you’re right. I thought that smell was just the fumes of that godforsaken place…”

The hunter then explains that most of Cathedral Ward is blocked off by two massive iron gates, and he’d just about given up until he discovered a secret passage underneath a crypt that took him deep below the stone walls of the Ward, down into the valley below. “Whatever used to be down there has been thoroughly torched and abandoned,” he explains. “All of the beasts I encountered looked thin, ragged, and much less human than most of the infected that I’ve seen up here in the city. Unfortunately, that burnt husk of a town turned out to be a dead end as well. The only other way out of the area I could find was a massive gate towards the south, but it’s sealed shut and looks like it has been for some time.”

Martha notices that Niall perks up at the mention of a gate, then seems disappointed once Roland clarifies its location. She, on the other hand, can barely suppress a shudder at the mention of _that_ particular gate. It has been over a decade since she’d gone down to the site of her childhood home, but she can still remember every grain of wood on that huge door from all the fruitless waiting she’d done there over the years out of guilt.

“Wait, why are there still beasts around Old Yharnam?” asks Tani. “I thought that all of the old town was destroyed when the Church came in and burned everything to the ground five years ago? At least, that’s what my dad told me right before we left Cathedral Ward.”

Martha can’t help but notice Roland briefly look away at the mention of Tani’s father. “Your guess is as good as mine.” He shrugs. “But there certainly aren’t any humans down there… aside from a crazy old hunter perched up on the roof of a clock tower with a chaingun and his bulkier, red-haired associate with an eye patch and a saw spear like yours[[1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29249544/chapters/74079798#note1)]. Never mind the beasts, it’s probably those two who are keeping anyone else away, since the old man seems to be protecting the beasts lurking in the ruins from the _hunters_.”

“I’m serious!” Roland insists as Tani scoffs incredulously at the very notion. “After trying to warn me off, he went full throttle on the chaingun every time I was in his line of sight! That man must have crates of ammunition stashed up there, unless it’s some strange Yharnamite device that I haven’t run across yet—”

“Did you kill him?” Martha interrupts suddenly. Tani gives her an odd look and Niall seems perturbed at her sudden bloodlust.

“Who, the hunter on the roof?” Roland raises an eyebrow at her question. “No, I couldn’t figure out how to get to him. I think his ally might’ve been guarding the way up there, it was difficult to tell through the hail of bullets flying my way. I ended up just sneaking past both of them. Why?”

“Hmph. Then leave the byegone old hunter be, I say. If the fool and his friend want to atone for their sins by protecting what’s left of Old Yharnam, then good,” Martha grumbles bitterly.

The ashen remains of Old Yharnam are still visible in the valley below from her house in Central Yharnam on a clear day. At night, the fires that are still somehow burning down there flicker like candles at the ends of their wicks. Martha had always wondered who kept the flames going, perhaps as a reminder to the city above of what had become of their predecessors despite the Healing Church’s attempts to erase Old Yharnam from memory.

Perhaps she has found her answer.

“All of the beasts were once the ordinary folk who inhabited the valley, same as those up here in the city who’ve been infected. They never did anything wrong to anyone. It’s the lousy Healing Church who failed them! They failed to eradicate the ashen blood plague, then they failed to stop the scourge of the beast! Then the bastards tried to cover it up rather than face what they’d done! But I’m still here, and _I_ will never forget or forgive the Church for what they’ve done!” Martha doesn’t realize that she’s been shouting until she hears her righteous fury echoing back at her through the mostly empty chapel. The higgledies huddle together in fear under the lantern at the noise.

The other occupants of Oedon Chapel seem just as startled at her outburst. She can feel their eyes on her, watching as she hobbles off without another word, heading back to the lantern to try and calm the higgledies down. The poor dears are very empathetic towards the hunters, and she knows that getting them to settle down will temper her own stormy mood in the process. Yet again she feels the itch in her brain—the temptation to down a bottle of sedative and forget her troubles, forget her cares…

However, the moment passes as Niall and Tani join her by the lantern, sitting on either side of her in silence as the distant sounds of the elevator mechanism fade. The higgledies let out a contented and unholy hum, pacified with the restoration of peace within the chapel.

* * *

“So did Alice live in Old Yharnam before as well, or was it just you?” Tani asks sometime later. The sounds of distant gunshots and screaming have faded; Roland must have finished dealing with whatever danger lay at the top of the elevator and beyond. The streets outside have grown uncomfortably quiet; Niall’s light snoring underneath his blanket is the only audible sound in the chapel before Tani speaks. “She never said anything to me about it.”

“No, it was just me and her mother,” Martha clarifies. “My late daughter married a man from Central Yharnam, then dragged me up there to help her take care of Alice when she was born.” Carol never had any of the hard-headed sentimentality of her mother when it came to sticking to her roots. Martha’s only consolation when her daughter finally left had been that at least Carol had found a good man in her quest to marry up, literally and figuratively.

(And thankfully Lewis had also been the polar opposite of Carol’s father, whose absence from his daughter’s life had been personally assured by Martha. But many a rake or unsuitable suitor had gone missing in Yharnam without further inquiry, presumed lost to the beast scourge.)

In contrast, Martha had finally left Old Yharnam only after nearly two full years of her daughter’s constant pestering. Martha’s last stop before her reluctant departure had been the southern gate one final time. Even though she knew in her heart that Marian would never return, same as the rest of her family, just leaving without saying goodbye hadn’t sat right with Martha. “I reckon she—”

“Hello down there!” A voice from above interrupts Martha. Niall jolts awake and cranes his neck upwards along with the rest of the chapel inhabitants to see Roland waving from the upstairs balcony. “So the elevator—”

“Oi!” Tani hollers at him as loud as she can. “How about you get down here and just tell us instead of shouting!?” She still jumps a little when the hunter takes her suggestion literally and drops to the ground floor. “I meant take the elevator, not risk your life and scare the living daylights out of us!” she admonishes Roland as he lands on his feet with an audible crunch and a muffled yelp of pain.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” Roland assures her, despite limping over to the lantern. Martha can spy a few other signs of injury hidden behind the foul-smelling coat. “Hold on just a moment, I’ll be right back.” The hunter of the Dream taps the tiny lantern and disappears from sight, leaving Niall and Tani blinking owlishly in confusion at his sudden disappearance. Were Martha younger, she would roll her eyes. Showoff.

The higgledies disappear into the floor along with the hunter and to Martha’s genuine surprise they re-emerge wearing tiny top hats! “Well now, don’t you look like dapper little gents!” she exclaims as Tani gasps in delight. Even Niall can’t help but smile as the higgledies preen and gurgle excitedly.

“And now we match,” Roland comments loudly, having reappeared without notice as the chapel inhabitants were too busy cooing over the dream messengers’ new formalwear. The hunter has found a slightly worn tophat of his own, but the most welcome change in Martha’s opinion is that he’s gone back to the grey greatcoat he’d been wearing earlier. It’s rather plain without the leather capelet, but at least it doesn’t smell like a garbage fire in a tar pit and all of Martha’s worst memories mixed together.

“Nah, I think the higgledies wear it better,” Tani quips after a moment of consideration.

With a shrug, Roland takes a seat by the lantern and reports that the passage connected to the chapel via the elevator leads to a tower containing what a rusty metal plaque proclaims to be the Healing Church Workshop. At the top of the tower is another locked door, but Roland turns down Tani’s offer to pick that lock as he had gotten the strangest feeling that he was being watched while he was up there, even once all the infected hunters had been dealt with…

It wasn’t a complete waste of time for the hunter though—Roland gestures to the huge broadsword with a scabbard only a head or two shorter than himself strapped to his back. Typical man, going for a large and obvious weapon over something that could be carried around in polite company. “The founder of the workshop—one O. Mausinger—apparently designed the Holy Blades like this one himself,” the hunter explains.

“Hmm, that name rings a bell, I think I remember reading about him in school,” muses Tani. “Wasn’t he one of the first hunters trained by the Healing Church? And the one who encouraged the common folk to take part in hunting beasts?”

“Aye, that was ‘im,” Martha mutters, thinking back to her own recruitment as a hunter long ago. Normally the Church wouldn’t have risked letting anyone from Old Yharnam into the city above for fear of the ashen blood spreading, but a blood moon was rising and they were short on hunters. Martha hadn’t understood their desperation at the time—she’d seized the opportunity that was dangled in front of her without question—but she would upon the rise of the next blood moon once the Dream had chosen her.

“Out of all the Church bigwigs, he was the only one with enough common sense to realize that gaining the cooperation of the people who work for a living and have the most to lose when the beasts attack could be an advantage—and perhaps they could be hunters themselves with some guidance. Mausinger’s the only one of those lousy Church folk who I’ve ever respected, even though he was as useless against the ashen blood plague as the rest.”

After a pensive silence, Roland finally speaks up. “You mentioned the ashen blood plague before. Is that a precursor to the scourge of the beast, or something else entirely? Are there _two_ deadly plagues in Yharnam right now?”

“Don’t you worry, no traces of ashen blood have been seen in Yharnam for years—not since the Healing Church burned it out of Old Yharnam, along with everyone else unlucky enough to be around,” Martha bitterly explains.

“Back when Yharnam was just a small town in the valley below, a strange plague began to spread through the populace from out of nowhere. Ashen blood robbed its victims of their humanity in both body and mind in a much more typical fashion than the scourge. Once a person had been infected, the sickness coursed through the body like a wildfire, causing a high fever which left the victim bedridden and delirious. At the same time, the blood in their body turned to a toxic rot which seeped into the other organs, causing the infected immense, unending pain before they mercifully passed away. The “ashen blood” moniker came from the pale grey fluid that spilled out of the corpses of the infected.”

“The founders of the Healing Church—Vicar Leonhard and all them—swooped in to save the village and cure the ashen blood plague with their newfound blood ministration. They were lauded for their ‘miracle cure’ and began to build up the city on the hills above around the Healing Church, leaving quaint Old Yharnam behind.”

“The truth was that their so-called miracle hadn’t worked completely. Small outbreaks of ashen blood kept occurring over the years, no matter how many new varieties of blood the Church ministers kept creating. Just as it seemed to fade away, a new case was discovered, and the outbreaks kept getting worse and worse as time went on.”

* * *

During one of these outbreaks, Martha could only watch helplessly as the ashen blood consumed her entire family. Her parents and twin sister wasted away in their beds as their insides burned up no matter how many of the chalky antidote pills Martha tried to force them to take. The only consolation that the doctors could give her was that in their extreme delirium, her family probably didn’t even realize that they were dying. Martha knew this wasn’t true because in a moment of clarity, her twin sister struggled through the pain of her entire body burning from within in order to make Martha promise that she’d keep living no matter what happened to her.

It would be the last conversation that the two sisters ever had. A hospital outside of Old Yharnam had offered to take in some of the infected to test out an “experimental cure” and Martha, who had just finished arranging the burial of her parents all on her own, had volunteered her sister without asking. At the time, it had been a desperate gamble for the slim chance at saving Marian, but Martha now knew that it had been a selfish choice on her part as she couldn’t bear to watch her twin linger on in unspeakable pain until death arrived to claim her too.

The men and women who came to take Marian and the other patients away looked more like scholars than the careworn, exhausted doctors who ran the hospital, but Martha was so desperate for any chance of a cure for her sister that she didn’t find this suspicious at the time. Oblivious to the danger, she followed the cart which held her ailing sister all the way to the southern gate. The scholars made no move to dismiss her (and Martha realized some time later that they might’ve let her come along if Marian hadn’t said anything). As they waited for the huge doors to creak open, her sister struggled to grasp Martha’s hand through an opening in the side of the cart.

“Run,” Marian rasped, suddenly more lucid than Martha had seen her in months, as the creaking came to a halt. “Don’t look back. P-promise me that whatever you do, you’ll live… for the both of us.” For reasons she could not understand (and never would), a fit of overwhelming terror seized Martha at the conviction and desperation in her sister’s words. She took off running in the opposite direction, dodging around the hands that reached out to grab her and disappearing into the maze of back alleys. She couldn’t quite explain _why_ she had decided to bolt, but Marian had always been the more insightful of the two sisters and something in her voice gave Martha the impression that if she didn’t do as Marian said, something terrible would happen.

Or perhaps that was her own guilt trying to rationalize her past actions once more. When Martha had finally managed to pull herself together and return to the gate, the doors were shut and Marian had gone.

Even though the stigma of ashen blood eventually faded from the popular consciousness, Martha carried that survivor's guilt and bitterness with her for the rest of her life. Sure, she kept on living solely for Marian’s sake, but it was a lonely, unfulfilling life...until a careless mistake during the hunt that should have been fatal instead sent her into the Dream.

* * *

“Eventually, the Healing Church quarantined the whole valley; anyone who wasn’t a Church member wasn’t allowed in or out. They said it was for our own good, but I think it was because they were tired of dealing with us and were hoping that we’d just die off so they could wash their hands of the matter.”

“Wait just a tick,” Niall interrupts her thoughts, “if no one was allowed ta leave Ol’ Yharnam, how did _you_ get out?”

“The Church may have thought that they’d locked us all in, but there were ways past their watch posts that only the locals knew,” Martha explains dismissively. “Even with all these precautions, the beast blood crept into Old Yharnam and mingled with the ashen blood, creating a new kind of beast altogether. The Healing Church was struggling to keep up with the spread of the scourge, and eventually they were overwhelmed to the point where they decided that Old Yharnam simply wasn’t worth the effort to try and save anymore.”

“Five years ago, on the night of the previous blood moon, Church hunters went down into the valley armed with flamesprayers and set all of the town ablaze. Afterwards, the hunters slaughtered anything and anyone who had survived the fire, and the Church washed their hands of the whole affair.”

* * *

Martha had long since left the valley, but Lewis and Carol had been present on that awful night, summoned by the Church without a proper explanation for what they were about to do. They’d arrived at Martha’s house at the crack of dawn the next day, covered in ash and numb with shock. They stayed there for a couple of days until they’d recovered enough to face their daughter, while Martha went to take care of Alice until she could face what her daughter and son-in-law had done.

For all her previous disdain for what had been her hometown, Carol could not stop sobbing as her husband tried to explain how they were under the impression that they would just be flushing out the beasts from their dens with fire and slaughtering them. The two hunters didn’t realize that they were meant to massacre all of the non-infected inhabitants as well until they were deep in the thick of it. With screams and smoke saturating the air around them, all they could do was run.

The worst part of it for Carol had been the apathy from the other hunters from the city towards taking the lives of those they knew were uninfected just because they already saw the townsfolk as beneath them and not human. In that moment she saw all of her social climbing had been for nothing as the posh folk of the city that she’d tried to become part of for so long were just as deranged and depraved as the beasts they hunted.

Martha had mixed emotions about the burning of Old Yharnam, as the town had been the setting for both wonderful and terrible memories alike. But the senseless slaughtering of innocents was an unforgivable crime almost worse than the negligence that the Church had shown. It had been decades since her hunt, but if this had been the night she’d been chosen as the dreamer she would have burned down the Healing Church for what they had done. She tried to track down the dreamer who had been active during that night to ask them why they hadn’t done anything… but the subsequent deaths of her family had cut that search short.

* * *

“Wow. That’s… that’s awful,” is all that Roland can say in response to that. Tani nods, fists clenched in her lap and eyes widened in horror. Niall’s expression is a bit less readable, but he gives her an empathetic nod. Perhaps he too has been burned by the Church, and maybe Martha has judged him too harshly.

“Alright, I’ve got one last question, then I’ll go.” Martha waits for the hunter to ask about something related to the Dream, but that’s not what’s on his mind it seems. She has to figure out a way to get Roland on his own so they can talk. “Does anyone know anything about a Choir? I found an inscription hidden away at the top of the Workshop saying something about the sky and the cosmos… Ring any bells for anyone?”

“It’s nothing I’ve ever heard of,” replies Martha, thrown off by the odd question.

Tani and Niall share similar looks of bafflement. “If this building has been around since Yharnam was founded, maybe it was an old club of Church hunters or something?” Tani suggests.

“Eh, whatever it was, it’s prob’ly not of any consequence ta us now,” Niall shrugs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism is appreciated!
> 
> Triggers/Warnings: Mentioned Past Character Death, Past Whump of a Minor, Emotional Whump, Mentions of deadly plagues, (Fantasy) Religious references, Implied (Fantasy) Substance Addiction, Mild xenophobia, Video game kleptomania
> 
> 1 Bai Gon is Djura, Raxel is Djura’s ally with the saw spear in Old Yharnam. They’re probably not getting speaking roles that’ll reveal their identities in the fic, hence this footnote. [ [return to text](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29249544/chapters/74079798#return1) ]


End file.
